


Stand Against the Moon

by Batsutousai



Series: Like a Ghost in My Town [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Dark Harry Potter, Forced Turning, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Possible underage sex, Temporary Character Death, Werewolf Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 06:49:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 86,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2378855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsutousai/pseuds/Batsutousai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cursed against his will, Harry made the best of his life until he found himself, again, wandering in Death's realm. When Death offers him a second chance, a chance to right the wrongs he'd been blind to for too long, he can't possibly refuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue – Like a Ghost in My Town

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Xerosis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/209494) by [Batsutousai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsutousai/pseuds/Batsutousai). 
  * Inspired by [Twin Blades](https://archiveofourown.org/works/209485) by [Batsutousai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsutousai/pseuds/Batsutousai). 
  * Inspired by [FeS2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3999286) by [Shivani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shivani/pseuds/Shivani). 



> **Disclaim Her:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
> 
>  **A/N:** Cross-posted to [Fanfiction.Net](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10724291/1/), [HPFandom](http://hpfandom.net/eff/viewstory.php?sid=48739), [Tumblr](http://batshieroglyphics.tumblr.com/tagged/fic%3AStand-Against-the-Moon/chrono), and [LiveJournal](http://batsutousai.livejournal.com/327897.html).
> 
> All chapters beta'd by the ever-wonderful Shara Lunison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This foolery came about from reading the fic Shivani is writing (FeS2, which she's working on posting, now) which was inspired by Xerosis, followed very shortly by a reread of both Xerosis and my FFX/HP fic Twin Blades (Shivani absolutely laughed at me for this). I only have the vaguest of ideas about where I'm going with this, but I have the need to write _something_ in HP right now, and none of my WiPs are getting anywhere. (Someone get me a blasting curse that works on writer's block walls, yeah? Appreciate it.)
> 
> As warning, this chapter follows from canon (pre-Epilogue), and is...not particularly pleasant. There is a non-consensual turning (involving cannibalism), violence, angst, and a couple murders in this chapter, including Harry's. If you're not _100% certain_ that you can handle this, I very much suggest waiting for the next chapter. You'll be filled in on the specifics later on, in a far less graphic manner. I wrote this mostly to get into this Harry's head, and so I'd know what he'd gone through later, and decided to post it for those who wanted to know everything up front, but you're not required to read this chapter to understand what's going on.  
>  Any bitching I get about this, I will block. I've given you fair warning.
> 
> The title for this chapter is taken from Phildel's _The Wolf_ , which served as inspiration for the fic. It was originally going to be the fic's title, but then I came up with 'Stand Against the Moon'.

Harry Potter had...pretty much everything a wizard could ask for. He had a beautiful fiancée, two amazing best friends, and an adoring adopted family. He had survived the man who'd killed his parents and tried multiple times to kill him, and he was a decorated auror, shoe-in for the Minister seat, should he care to reach out for it. 

Which wasn't to say there weren't bad moments, because he had a godson with no parents who he shared the care of with the child's grandmother, and there were moments around the table during family meals when the figurative empty chairs were all too obvious. 

And then, of course, there were moments like today, when he found these sort of orders waiting for him on his desk. 

"I'm not doing this, Gawain," he informed his boss when he poked his head into the man's office. 

Gawain Robards raised his head and offered Harry a tired look out of his one good eye, the other one rolling off to one side in the manner of the late Alastor Moody, though Harry knew Gawain's eye was both real and nowhere near as useful as Moody's had been. "Which assignment do you have a problem with this time, Potter?" he requested, voice as tired as his appearance. 

Harry resisted the urge to sigh as he stepped forward and set the parchment on the overflowing desk of the elder wizard. "Report of a rampaging werewolf up north," he explained. 

Gawain glanced over the paper and let out the sigh Harry had held back, then looked up at him. "There's no one else I can send right now. If you didn't want to get stuck with the creature jobs, you shouldn't have mucked about in the creature department." 

Harry ground his teeth against that particular descriptor for magical non-humans; he may have managed to have the late Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures largely abolished (what was left was being manned by his friend Hermione and some other non-human friendly souls), but there was little he could do to change the way most witches and wizards viewed such. "Fine," he bit out, trying to hide how irritated he was and knowing he was failing miserably. "But I'm not bloody well _hunting_ anyone down." 

Gawain held the parchment with the assignment back up to Harry. "Potter, I don't give a fuck if you decide to dance around a campfire with the bugger, just so long as it's fucking _handled_."

Harry snatched the parchment away and stalked from the office. He really didn't mind working under Gawain most of the time, but the man's all-too-common non-human hatred rubbed him _entirely_ the wrong way. 

Ron found him while he was getting together an anti-werewolf kit; just because he had no interest in using it, didn't mean he was fool enough to chance going out to meet with a werewolf on his own without the bloody thing. "Rough luck, mate," Ron said, reading over the parchment Harry had left on the table near the door. 

"I feel like a _traitor_ ," Harry muttered, certain that Ron, out of everyone in the department, would understand why he so hated the idea of going after werewolves in particular. 

Ron touched his shoulder and offered Harry a smile that was a little too dark around the edges. "At least this way you know the werewolf has a fair chance?" he offered. 

Harry stared down at the silver knives of his kit, glinting in the firelight that lit so much of the magical world. "There is that," he agreed quietly before shoving the knives home in his belt. 

Ron nodded and offered a hopeful smile. "Need a hand?" 

Harry glanced towards the clock hanging over the door and shook his head. "No. I'll be fine. Don't go extending your shift on my account." 

"Oiy, who _should_ I be extending my shifts for, then?" Ron joked as he led the way out of the room and back into the hustle and bustle of the department. 

Harry snorted. "No one, likely. Unless you _want_ Hermione coming down on your arse for mucking up her carefully laid plans." 

Ron laughed, loud and happy. "That woman makes too many plans." 

Harry shot him a knowing grin and clapped Ron on the shoulder. "Better you than me," he insisted and Ron's laughter chased him to the lift. 

-0-

Harry should have guessed that the visit wouldn't end well, given how his luck seemed to enjoy seeing him pulling off the impossible when faced with danger. 

The suspected single werewolf turned out to be a pack of seven. The wizard who'd reported them had gone to confront the lot not long before Harry arrived, and he found things already heated. Attempts to soothe things over hadn't gone well – Harry was not known for his diplomacy skills, which was one of the reasons he had no interest in the Minister's seat – and the resulting fight had left him with one near-dead wizard and seven completely dead werewolves. 

As Harry portkeyed to St. Mungo's with the injured wizard, leaving the werewolves for Hermione's department to handle, he felt very much the traitor. 

-0-

A quiet month followed the werewolf call, and Harry found himself forgetting about it. He had dinner with the Weasleys, caught a couple lovely nights with Ginny, and took Teddie to the park near his grandmother's place multiple times. 

And then he found a new assignment on his desk: A vampire reported for killing muggles along the western coast of Lough Neagh. The report had come in via the British Prime Minister, who had passed it on from the Northern Ireland Secretary. Which meant there shouldn't be any trigger-happy wizards about to turn things violent, thankfully, but it also meant that Harry couldn't turn it down, because the Prime Minister would want someone he _trusted_ handling the issue. (Never mind that he had never met Harry; Kingsley had apparently talked about him enough that the Prime Minister held him on as high a pedestal as the magical world.) 

Harry sighed and went to collect a vampire kit, not even bothering with Gawain's office. With luck, this meeting would go far better than the last non-human assignment he was handed. 

-0-

_'On second thought,'_ Harry decided as he woke, head split with a headache and movement restricted by tight ropes, _'I'll take the bloody battle.'_

There was a group of people standing over him, two men, two women. One of the women was clearly a vampire, teeth obvious from the way she was grinning down at him, triumphant and blood thirsty. One of the men looked like he was wasting away, but there was a hunger in his sunken eyes that set the hair on the back of Harry's neck on end. The last two looked like average humans, save for the sickly pallor to their skin that recalled the appearance of Remus Lupin in the days before the full moon (which was, Harry knew, only two days away). 

"Look, our traitorous champion has awakened at last," the male who Harry was pretty sure was a werewolf said, lip curling up with a snarl. 

"So weak, these humans," the vampire commented. "Why, if I didn't know any better, I'd think this one a _muggle_."

Harry ignored the insult, choosing instead to request, "Is there a reason you attacked me and tied me up when I came in peace?" 

The vampire picked up a stake from a table next to her, the end burnished with the Ministry symbol. "Oh, yes, quite peaceful, Auror." 

"Just like you came in peace to meet my pack," the female Harry assumed was a werewolf snarled, her eyes glinting gold in the candlelight. 

_'Well,'_ Harry couldn't help but think as his stomach sank, _'shit.'_ Because the wizard he'd saved had gone straight to the papers with a truly horrible version of events, one that would paint Harry in the worst way possible. And no amount of damage control on his or the Ministry's part could make the common witch or wizard believe he hadn't gone out to meet that pack with wand blazing. 

He wondered how he'd get out of this one in one piece. 

"What sort of werewolf champion _massacres_ a werewolf pack, anyway?" the male werewolf wondered, tapping his chin in a way that should have appeared thoughtful and unconcerned, but really just made him look demonic with the way the candlelight was shading his face. 

"I would," the last man said, his voice a whisper, accent American. 

"I said _massacre_ , not _eat_ , Peechee," the male werewolf snarled, shooting the American a disgusted look. 

The American smiled, lips cracking and weeping dark blood. "They mean the same to me." 

The vampire flowed forward and brushed the stake against Harry's jaw oh-so gently. He forced himself to stare at her and ignore the stake, hoping he wouldn't come to regret the decision. "So cruel is our champion," she murmured. 

Harry swallowed against the feel of the stake trailing down his throat. "Why are you calling me that?" he asked, because he honestly didn't get it. He'd been given many names meant to praise him in his life, but this was the first time someone had called him the _champion_ of anyone. 

The vampire laughed and jabbed the stake against his chest, hard enough he felt it, but gentle enough it wouldn't leave anything worse than a bruise. Harry's breath still caught and he closed his eyes, trying to keep himself calm; losing his shit right now would not help him. 

An overpowering smell of decay stung his nose, and Harry opened his eyes to find the American had taken the vampire's place. He couldn't keep from jerking back, and the man's smile stretched too-wide, dark blood almost _oozing_ down his chin, it moved so slowly. "Are you not the champion of all those not human?" he whispered, his voice as ruined as his lips. "Do you not go to the greatest of lengths to protect our rights?" 

The vampire scoffed. "Protect our rights?" she repeated, the words dripping with venom. "Hardly. He makes play at caring, our champion. Too caught up in his humanity to care for those of us who lack." 

The American stroked his fingers against Harry's cheek, and Harry couldn't help but shudder. "We can fix that," he promised, and Harry felt suddenly cold. 

"It was my pack he destroyed, it is my restitution to claim!" the female werewolf snarled. 

"We can't hold him until the full moon," the male werewolf pointed out. "The humans will find him first." 

"It needn't be a full change," the female insisted, eyes glinting gold as she stepped forward to stare down at Harry over the American's shoulder. 

"I have a better idea," the American announced before he spun and lashed out, snapping the female werewolf's neck before Harry knew what was happening. 

Neither of the other two non-humans reacted to the female's death, beyond the vampire asking, "Does she need to be cooked?" 

The American turned to stare down at Harry, eyes hungry and cold. "What would be the fun in that?" he asked before he almost absently snapped the dead woman's arm off and held it in front of Harry, blood puddling between them. "Eat, Champion." 

Harry turned his head away, bile climbing his throat. "The _fuck_ ," he spat before swallowing hard. 

Unnaturally strong fingers caught in his hair and forced his head back around. The bodiless arm was pressed against his lips, still warm from life. "Eat." 

Fingers brushed lightly against the back of Harry's neck and the vampire breathed against his ear from behind, "You will eat the werewolf, Harry Potter, or you will be killed and left here for dead while we lead a pack against your family on the full moon." 

The chill was gone, pushed away by a great well of terror. He squeezed his eyes closed and obediently opened his mouth. 

It was...nauseating. Harry felt like every bite would make him gag, slimy and raw as it slid down his throat. But he forced himself to choke it down, because he would rather he be forced into cannibalism a thousand times over than let his family suffer a proper werewolf attack. 

Yes, the vampire had spoken true, he was far too much a human to truly care about the liberties of the non-humans. Even now, his fight was more in memory of Remus than any true wish to see them given the same rights as witches and wizards. 

He was no one's champion. 

What seemed like an eternity later, Harry trapped between pieces of deceased werewolf and a vampire, the American started to chant in a language unfamiliar to Harry. 

"You can't have him," a new voice said, trapped somewhere between male and female and icy as death. 

The vampire pushed away from Harry with a cry of terror, and the remains of the werewolf were pulled away as the chanting stopped. Harry opened his eyes to see if he could spot the newcomer, and found a person cloaked in black, carrying a scythe, standing across from the American. 

The hood was turned towards Harry for a moment, shadows within far too deep for Harry to see a face, then it turned back towards the American. "You can't have him, Wendigo." 

The American laughed, loud and cruel. "And who are you to think you might stop me, apparition?" 

The hood tilted slightly. "I am Death," it said, and Harry was torn between a sense of relief and and chill crawling his spine. Behind him, the vampire whimpered, while the male werewolf just to Harry's left shuddered and took three quick steps away. 

The American fell still, looking the cloaked being over. "You are not _my_ Death." 

Death moved like it was shrugging its shoulders. "I come in the form my Master expects." It shrugged again and repeated, "You can't have him." 

The American snorted. "And you think you can stop me?" 

The hood turned towards Harry. "May I kill him?" it asked. 

Half-dried blood cracked against Harry's lips and chin as he opened his mouth and whispered, "Yes." 

Death moved swift as a shadow, and the American let out one, horrifying scream before he crumpled to the ground. The new corpse was still for but a moment before it changed ever so slightly, the skin darkening and the features filling out just enough to appear human. 

A shadow left the body and Death caught it in one skeletal hand, hood tilted comically to one side, as though observing the squirming shadow in its grasp. "I was never much fond of your sort," it commented before flexing its hand. 

Another scream filled the silence, like a child in agony, and Harry squeezed his eyes shut and wished he could cover his ears. 

Bone brushed against Harry's cheek as the screaming stopped, and Harry's eyes snapped open to stare up into the shadowed hood staring down at him. "And the others? May I kill them too?" Death asked, sounding almost _hopeful_.

"Yeah," Harry whispered, and the vampire let out a sob behind him. 

"Thank you, Master," Death murmured before it was gone from Harry's sight. 

The vampire let out a gurgle as she died. The werewolf managed to escape, light from the rising dawn streaking across the floor, but Harry knew he wouldn't get far before Death caught up to him. 

Harry closed his eyes and slumped back in the chair he was tied to. A part of him wondered if Death would free him, but he didn't suppose it mattered that much; the male werewolf had been quite correct in assuming the Ministry would hunt him down if Harry didn't check in at the end of his shift. 

Indeed, he only had to wait another two hours, by his figuring, before a team of aurors and two mediwizards found him. They transported him immediately to St. Mungo's and healed him of the very minor physical wounds he'd suffered. They tried to induce vomiting to remove the werewolf flesh he'd been forced to eat, uncertain what sort of outcome it would have, but the American must have done something to keep it in his body until he'd digested all of it, because nothing they tried worked. Still, the magical tests turned up nothing out of the ordinary, so they let him go home. 

-0-

Two nights later, when the full moon rose over Grimmauld Place, Harry screamed in agony as his shape changed into that of a wolf and his human mind hid away. 

When he woke, he was naked in the middle of his library, books and furniture a wreck around him and blood ringing his mouth. The rest of the house wasn't much better, nearly every room marked with some form of teeth or claw marks. He found what was left of Kreacher in the kitchen, and Harry couldn't do anything more than sit down next to his loyal house-elf and stare at his bloody form. 

"So," he whispered an age later, face cracking with dried blood and tear tracks, "I guess that werewolf got her revenge after all." 

And then he threw up. 

-0-

"You look _terrible_ ," Hermione said when Harry stepped into her office. 

Harry closed her door behind him and snapped out his wand to throw up the strongest privacy wards he knew. When he dropped into the open chair across her desk from her, he found Hermione staring at him with wide, terrified eyes. "I'm a werewolf," he told her, seeing no reason to beat around the bush; she'd see through him in a heartbeat. 

Hermione shook her head, eyes still wide. "But they ran tests and you came up–"

"Human?" Harry finished tiredly, rubbing at his eyes, the familiar motion feeling wrong without his glasses in the way. "They were wrong. Kreacher's dead." 

Hermione let out a broken sound and hurried around her desk to hug him. Her tears soaked into his hair and Harry closed his eyes and returned the hug, feeling hollow. 

Finally, Hermione pulled away and returned to the other side of the desk, eyes red and waterlogged, but bearing an air of seriousness. "What do you want to do?" she asked. "We can try to keep this under wraps–"

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "I'm not going to lie about this or try to hide it." He clenched his hands on the arms of the chair and forced himself to take a breath. "What sort of precedent am I setting if I refuse to accept this curse?" 

"Harry," Hermione whispered, voice a ghost of what it should have been, "Ministry policy says–"

"I know." Harry closed his eyes. "I already drafted my resignation." The parchment weighed heavy in his pocket, a solid reminder that he may not have died in that attack, but his life as he knew it was essentially over. 

Hermione swallowed, loud in the silence. "Are you coming to dinner tonight?" she asked over the sounds of parchment being rustled on her desk. 

"No," Harry decided. "I'll send Mum an owl when I'm done with my excuses here." 

"You know you'd be welcome," Hermione pressed. 

Harry opened his eyes again to smile at where she was adding his name to the werewolf registry, every stroke of her quill seeming forced. "I know, but I'm not feeling particularly social right now. Next week." 

Hermione looked up at him, sorrow lining her face. "And Ginny?" 

Harry leant forwards, motioning for her to hand him the paperwork for the Wolfsbane Potion. "I'll talk to her. Owl her and ask her to come by tomorrow." 

"Okay." 

They were quiet while they finished the paperwork. As Harry stood, motioning with his wand to pull down his wards, Hermione said, "Do you mind if Ron and I come over for dinner one night this week? Not tomorrow, but–"

"Yeah," Harry agreed with a shrug. "Tuesday?" 

"Okay." 

Harry nodded and left her office, making his way, next, down to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement level. There, he stepped into Gawain's office and requested, "I need to talk to you." 

Gawain sighed. "Potter, if you've got a problem with another assignment–"

Harry set the scroll with his resignation on his boss' desk. "I'm quitting," he said quietly before turning and leaving the office to pack his things. 

Gawain didn't come after him, and Harry packed his things with easy motions, stuffing everything he cared about into his pockets before leaving the Ministry to hide out at his home and send off a couple owls to his family. 

He suspected the news of his condition would break by tomorrow morning. 

-0-

The news didn't actually break until a week later, and Harry wasn't certain if that could be attributed more to Hermione guarding the registry with her life, or the Ministry trying to keep everything under wraps. 

Either way, Harry was unspeakably grateful for the wards that whichever of Sirius' relatives had put up that kept out any owls bearing harmful post, having watched far too many owls carrying red envelopes or those dripping with something be turned away at the edge of the wards. Plenty of letters made it past, however, and he spent the day reading the sympathy of strangers, torn between gratitude for their kind words and disgust for their fear of his curse. 

The letters kept coming through the rest of that week, leaving him a mess of complicated emotions and no fit company for anyone, even Ginny, who usually managed to calm him with little more than a kiss. 

The next Monday, he was again in Hermione's office, expression tense, but a certain sense of determination burning in his blood. "I want to spread the realities of lycanthropy," he announced once they were both seated and the niceties had been observed. 

Hermione raised her eyebrows at him. "Realities, Harry?" 

Harry nodded and held out a letter he'd received, which was so laced with misinformation, it was stomach-turning. "I'm tired of these," he admitted, smiling at the horrified face she pulled as she read it over. "I can hardly call being forced to turn into a mindless beast once a lunar cycle _fun_ , but it's no where near so horrible as some of these idiots think it is." He sighed and leant forward. "Hermione, I'm okay, I'll manage, but not every werewolf is _me_. They don't always have the support structure they need, because there are lies _everywhere_. I want to help. I want to do what I was only half-arsing before." 

Hermione smiled at him, blinking rapidly against tears. "Okay," she whispered. "Let's do this." 

-0-

Let it never be said that fighting misinformation was easy, but Harry had the political and social clout to make a dent, at least. 

He bullied the _Prophet_ – with Hermione and Kingsley's help – into giving him a weekly column, all too aware of how much stock their world put into the paper. There, he told of the truths of lycanthropy. How miserable it actually was – or wasn't, in many cases – how hard it was to live with the stigma, and the many ways that _anyone_ could make it easier. He even got other werewolves and their loved ones to share their own stories anonymously, when he ran out of his facts. 

Owls were still turned away by his wards all the time, and he'd been cursed a half-dozen times in Diagon Alley before a year had passed, but the disgustingly sympathetic owls tapered off, their authors turning into people who were beginning to understand that this curse wasn't the end of the world, not for him. 

By the second year of his curse, legislation was passed which made it a crime to fire someone for being a werewolf, and the Ministry hired on four werewolves to do paper-pushing jobs. Harry was offered his position as an auror back, but refused unless the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was willing to hire other werewolves for auror positions. Gawain promised to look into it and that was the last he hear for a while, even with Ron and Hermione keeping their ears to the wall. 

By the third year of Harry's curse, there was about a forty-two percent rate of employment amongst werewolves, and he allowed himself to be bullied back into the aurors, filling the position Ron vacated to help George in manning Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. 

In Harry's fifth year, however, a new Dark Lord came to power, and his opening gambit involved an attack headed by werewolves. 

And everything went to shit. 

-0-

The days following that horrible full moon involved a lot of being called out to protect werewolves who were being attacked by neighbours and passing acquaintances. For those three aurors who were werewolves – Harry and two others – protecting the werewolves were a priority, but plenty of their fellows would drag their feet, or 'misaim a curse', and a werewolf would die. 

Harry found himself blocking curses while trying to do his shopping again, something he hadn't faced in almost three years, and many of the werewolves he'd helped get jobs in Diagon Alley or in the Ministry were refusing to come in to work, afraid for their lives. 

"Humans," one of Harry's werewolf friends snarled after Harry had come to his rescue. "We will _always_ be monsters to them." 

Harry wanted to dispute that, but he was growing tired of defending people, only to get stabbed in the back. 

_Sometimes,_ he was discovering, _being the better man is the hardest thing of all._

-0-

When a large batch of Wolfsbane Potion arrived contaminated for the fourth full moon following the new Dark Lord's rise, Harry refused his chance to get any, as he had a perfectly safe place to transform without the potion. Hermione had smiled in understanding as she crossed his name off, tears glinting on her lashes. "Make sure you let your department know you'll be out of service for an extra couple days so you can heal up," she reminded him as he turned to leave. 

"I will," he promised, and went to do that very thing. 

On the full moon, he curled up in the reinforced room of Grimmauld Place that he'd created with Hermione and Ron's help a couple years ago during another Wolfsbane shortage. He suffered the terrible pain, secretly grateful for the moment when his wolf's brain came to the fore and protected him from the agony of shifting bones. 

He got the vague impression of blood and violence, of rending and tearing and screams of terror. 

He woke on a battlefield, surrounded by aurors with grim faces. His co-workers. Friends. 

They were all still for a long moment, staring at each other with wide eyes. 

And then one of them pointed their wand at Harry, face twisting nastily, and breathed, " _Avada Kedavra_."

-0-

"Well," Harry said to himself as he relaxed back in the empty white space he remembered from the last time he'd died, "that was disappointingly anticlimactic." 

Someone cackled from behind him and he turned to find Death standing over him, leaning against its scythe. "Greetings, Master," it offered in its genderless voice. 

"Hello, Death," Harry returned politely as he climbed to his feet. A brief thought had him clothed in his auror robes, too familiar and comfortable after so many years surviving in them. "What can I do for you?" 

Death was silent for a long moment, and Harry got the impression he was being measured up. "No, Master," it said at last, "that's not how this works. One should rather say, what can _Death_ do for _you_?"

Harry blinked. "What?" 

Death moved its shoulders in a shrug, skeletal fingers flexing around the handle of its scythe. "The fact of the matter, Master, is that you command me. Should you wish to return to life, it can be done. Should you wish to pass on, you may. If you wish to end the lives of anyone in particular as revenge for your rather inglorious death..."

"I can," Harry finished, staring down at his familiar black boots and fighting with his sense of right and the need to _punish_ his people for their two-faced cruelty. His fellow auror had barely _paused_ , and he didn't need to ask to know that the others wouldn't have tried to stop his murder, had they been given the opportunity. The overall opinion of the department since the attack had been poor in regards to werewolves, and when Harry or one of his fellows had pointed out that _they_ were werewolves, they always got a cheerful smile and an easy, 'Well we don't mean you, _obviously_.' 

He frowned, something occurring to him. "Why was I on that battlefield?" he requested, certain Death would have an answer. 

Death shrugged again. "The current Dark Lord created a spell that forcefully apparated any werewolves not partaking of the Wolfsbane Potion and set them to attack his preferred target." It gave a little twirl of its scythe, bone fingers clicking eerily against the shaft of the weapon while Harry bared his teeth in an unconscious snarl. "You're quite an accomplished werewolf, you know. Many, many deaths under your belt." 

Harry let out a disgusted noise. "You realise that doesn't actually make me happy." 

Death pointed its scythe at Harry, keeping it just far enough back that it was clear there was no threat intended in the motion. "You realise it makes _me_ happy; I like it when people die." And then it gave a great cackle, the sound certain to cause a chill to any who heard it. 

Harry snorted. "Right. Forgot who I was talking to." He rolled his eyes and picked at some dirt under one nail. "Can I request the death of the Dark Lord? If only for the freedom of other werewolves." Because, honestly, a huge part of him was more than willing to leave the humans to continue suffering, but his fellow werewolves were being used against their will, and that was... 

"Merlin's bollocks, I really need to get over this saving people thing," Harry muttered to himself, and Death cackled again. 

Once Death regained control of itself, it motioned with its scythe off to one side and a shadowed form breezed past them. "The Dark Lord is now dead. Anyone else, Master?" it asked, and Harry got the impression it was hopeful. 

"Er..." He frowned in thought. Was there anyone else he wanted dead? Any other humans who had so wronged him or another werewolf that Harry was left thinking, _'I wish you would **die** '_?

Harry paused for a moment, then started listing names, too many names, and shadows went speeding past them, marking the newly deceased. He was torn between disgust and vindication, but once he started, it was hard to stop. It didn't matter that killing off all the opposition wouldn't really help, in the end; he just wanted to serve out his anger on those deserving. 

This was the danger of having an all-powerful servant who had no moral compunctions when it came to serving Harry's every whim. 

Harry ran out of names long before he ran out of anger, and the silence echoed between them as the last few shadows sped past. He found his fist clenched tightly enough that too-long nails had bitten into the flesh of his palms, leaving blood to drip absently to the white ground. 

"Was that all, Master?" Death finally asked. 

Harry forced his hands to relax and looked down at them to watch as blood flowed easily over his palms, marking him as a murderer. "Unless you can bring the dead back to life so we can kill them again," he commented drily, deciding he didn't care about this newest stain on his soul. 

Death was still for a long moment, the silence stretching between them, before it carefully said, "Bringing the dead back isn't within my skills, no, but shifting to another reality, one where those people still live, is." 

Harry jerked his head up, staring at the cloaked form. "Oh?" he said, and there was an idea forming in his head, something terrible, yet soothing to the wolf prowling in the back of his mind. 

"Yes, Master. Those who have wronged you can die over and over, even in those realities where you have never existed." 

That didn't interest him, really, however... "You said I could return to life," Harry pointed out, staring at Death. 

"Yes," Death agreed, and Harry got the impression it knew where he was going with this. That it _approved_ , even. 

"Could you send me to live in one of these other realities?" Harry requested. And the wolf inside him howled in pleasure, because it wanted to destroy those who had wrong him with its own jaws. 

Death twirled its scythe like a muggle baton, fingers clicking with an easy rhythm. "I could," it agreed. "You would settle into the body of yourself as you are in that moment. Likely pre-Hogwarts age." 

Harry nodded; there were plenty of people who had wronged him when he was a child, dead long before. "With my memories?" he asked, because that was important. 

"Memories, abilities, curses," Death agreed. 

Harry paused, brought up short, because he'd lived in the muggle world for much of his childhood, and there was no way he was going to chance turning anyone for revenge. 

Death let out an odd clicking sound, like a tongue flicking against teeth. "I can change your curse, Master, give you control of the change." The scythe flicked out to one side and a portal opened just beyond the top of the curved blade. "You would never lose yourself to your wolf, and you won't be held to the phases of the moon." 

"That's possible?" Harry asked, eyes going wide. 

Death chuckled, icy and terrifying. "Master, I am Death; _anything_ is possible when one plays in souls." 

Harry grinned, a show of teeth that was more than a little feral. "Oh, I _like_ that sound of that." 

Death motioned towards the opened portal. "Then step forth, Master, and guide my scythe from the battlefield." 

Harry did.

.


	2. One – Procuring Freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, I admit, got a bit away from me. I blame lack of sleep. Also, Harry. Because everything is always Harry's fault. (Except for when it's Luna's. Who isn't even really in this fic because the timeline sort of...worked against me there.)

Harry had been twisting and turning for hours, curled around the agony of a broken arm, before he finally managed to drift to sleep. He knew, of course, the moment he'd felt the bone snap, that he would be in misery until it healed. If he was lucky, it would heal straight. If he wasn't... 

Well. He tended to be lucky more often than not when it came to things like how well he healed from things that happened to him at home. 

_"Hello, Harry,"_ a male's voice said. 

Harry turned to look, realising rather suddenly that he was in a white space, mist curling across his ankles. Bare ankles. Bare legs. Bare...everything. He gasped and tried to cover himself, embarrassed and horrified. 

A voice chuckled, and while it wasn't a happy sound, Harry somehow knew the man he found standing in front of him was laughing _with_ him, rather than _at_ him. _"Nothing I haven't seen before, I promise,"_ the man said. 

Harry didn't move his hand from in front of his crotch, but he did take a moment to observe this man: Messy black hair, darkened green eyes, lips a mirror of Harry's own. _"Are you my...father?"_

The man's smile was so very sad, but there was a suggestion of irony in the twist of the corners. _"No. I'm you. Or, well, a **version** of you,"_ he corrected, head tilting to one side while Harry stared at him in disbelief. The man shook his head after a moment. _"You're too young to understand the specifics. Let's just say there are some people who hurt me that I never got the chance to hurt back, so I made a deal with Death for a second chance."_

Harry understood where this was going. _"What, as **me**?"_

_"Essentially."_

_"But then what happens to **me**?"_ Harry demanded, giving up on any thought of dignity and moving his good arm to push one hand against his chest, directly over his heart. 

The man shrugged. _"You know, I never asked. But I expect we'll meld together, become one person. We'll, neither of us, be the same person we are now."_ He snorted. _"Well, that or you'll just vanish entirely and it'll just be me in your..."_ He frowned, eyes tracking over Harry's form. _"You're, what, four?"_

Harry nodded. _"Nearly five."_ He took a deep breath. _"And what if I don't **want** to chance disappearing? What if I'd rather...rather..."_

_"Suffer a broken arm for three weeks while it heals?"_ the man suggested drily before taking three quick steps forward and kneeling in front of Harry before he could flinch away. _"I can get you – us? – away from the Dursleys entirely,"_ he murmured as he gently took Harry's broken arm in one hand, a stick appearing in the other. _"It'll take a bit, because we'll have to get Sirius out of jail first, but once he's free–"_

_"Who's Sirius?"_ Harry asked. 

The man blinked at him. _"Our godfather. He was framed."_ Then he tapped his stick against Harry's arm and it warmed, the ache of broken bones fading away. 

Harry gasped and moved his arm, in awe at the easy heal. _"How did you **do** that?"_

The man smiled, too old, too broken, but entirely honest. _"Seven years learning magic at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."_ He reached up and tugged gently on a lock of Harry's wild hair. _"What do you say, Harry? Free pass out of the Dursleys?"_

Harry stared at the man for a long moment, seeing the great well of pain, the restrained violence and murderous intent, the monster hidden beneath his aged mirror. He should have been scared of the man, but he wasn't even passingly concerned about his intentions _"Are you going to hurt the Dursleys?"_ he asked. 

The man's expression darkened in a way that should have terrified Harry, should have had him running for the hills. But, instead, he saw every moment Dudley shoved him, every chore on the unending list, every night sent to his cupboard without dinner. _"Oh,"_ the man breathed, the monster hidden within lighting his eyes with gold, _"they will pay for every wrong they have done you, and every wrong they'll never have the chance to do. I'll leave them **begging** for Death."_

Harry rather suspected that the monster inside the man was also inside him, because his smile felt very much feral as he extended his hand. _" **Good**."_

The man clasped their hands together, and then everything faded to black. 

-0-

There was a moment, when Harry first woke, where he wasn't sure who he was. Was he the nearly five-year-old, unwanted nephew of the Dursleys, whose good-for-nothing parents had died in a car crash? Or was he twenty-seven, a werewolf and auror, Master of Death? Was he alone and friendless? Or did he have a massive extended family, willing to support him despite his curse? 

He shifted and his arm throbbed. He grimaced and forced himself to sit up and look down at the extremity, not that he could see much in the darkness of the cupboard. An absent flick of his fingers cast a _lumos_ on the darkened light bulb above him, and he stopped for a moment to look up there, half disbelieving that magic was actually _real_. That he could control it so easily, despite lacking a wand. 

A voice echoed in his mind, familiar and not: _"Wandless magic is easy for children, because they haven't learnt structure, but the structure is safer, leads to less energy being lost. Well, and spells cast through a focus are stronger."_

Harry looked down at his good hand, wondering how much that applied to him. After all, he knew about the structure, but he was still young, didn't have the muscle memory – magic memory? – of directing magic through a wand, or the specific twitches of his wrist that directed the magic flow. 

Floorboards creaked upstairs and he turned his gaze to his bad arm. He stretched it out gingerly, wincing at the tingles of pain, but it didn't feel as bad as it had been the night before. He pulled up his loose sleeve and found deep bruises surrounding where it had been broken, giving a reason for the ache, though not for the sudden healing. 

_'Well, I suppose it could have been from that other place?'_ Harry figured with an uncertain frown, before he shook his head, another reason occurring to him. _'I'm a werewolf. Well, an abnormal one, but still. I expect speedy healing isn't something Death would have changed in tweaking my curse.'_ He snorted. _'If anything, I expect he would have sped the healing up. Which...actually, that would be nice. I'd appreciate that.'_

Light footsteps sounded on the stairs above his head, and Harry snapped up his good hand to extinguish the light above him. Two beats of his heart later, Petunia was tugging the door of his cupboard open, face scrunched up in distaste. "You have five minutes in the bathroom," she announced before turning and walking into the kitchen to, Harry knew, put the kettle on. 

Harry hurried through his morning routine with efficiency born of necessity more than familiarity. However, when he turned to leave, he froze, eyes caught on his forehead, where a lightning bolt scar had been yesterday. Now, however, the patch of skin was empty of any blemishes, and he stared at it in disbelief, reaching up with his good arm to touch the bare patch. 

"Boy!" Petunia snapped. 

Harry stumbled from the bathroom and into the kitchen, mind a whirl with questions that he couldn't hope to answer. _'Well,'_ he realised as he took his place in front of the cooker to make breakfast, ignoring Aunt Petunia's glare, _'there's always Death, I suppose. If I can figure out how to call him. Killing someone, I would suppose.'_

Which brought him to another matter, and he frowned down at the frying pan he was using. _'I'm done playing servant to these pigs. I can't leave until I have somewhere else to go, but that hardly means I have to continue living as the unwanted house-elf.'_ He smiled down at the eggs, teeth showing far more than was polite outside of a werewolf pack. _'It's about time I put the fear of magic into them, anyway.'_

Or, well, the fear of werewolves. 

Harry waited until everyone had finished eating and Vernon had risen to leave for work – Dudley was long retired to the telly in the family room, by then – before he announced, "Aunt Petunia, I'll be away all day." Because he needed to hunt down Pettigrew, and that was going to take _time_ , given the restrictions of his physical age and his lack of wand or money. The latter two could be solved, of course, but he'd much rather wait until Sirius was free and named his guardian before he considered tackling those challenges. 

Petunia looked torn between glad to know he'd be out of her hair all day and angry at his attempt to claim some personal freedom. 

Vernon, on the other hand, didn't have to deal with him during the day, so he went straight to angry at the disobedience. "You think you're going to leave your aunt to clean up your mess tod–?" 

"Excuse me," Harry interrupted quietly, a twitch of his fingers silencing Vernon, "but I haven't _left_ any messes in this house. Any dirt can be attributed to one of you three. More importantly, I start school in a couple of months, and it will be up to Aunt Petunia to manage everything on her own, then." 

Vernon was turning purple, while Petunia had paled at the way his mouth moved uselessly. "What have you done?" she cried. 

Harry tilted his head to one side. "Shut him up. Obviously." 

Vernon let out a silent roar and started towards Harry, hands extended like claws. 

Harry snarled and bared teeth that felt too large, too sharp for his human mouth, and Petunia let out a terrified little scream. "I _wouldn't_ ," he growled, the words slurring with the changed shape of his teeth. He waited a beat for his mouth to return to a more human shape before adding, "I would _hate_ to force Aunt Petunia to clean your blood from the kitchen floor all by herself." 

Vernon froze, hands still extended, but face gone nearly white in terror. 

Harry stood, feeling a nasty thrill of pleasure at the way his uncle flinched back a step, and looked towards his aunt. "I will aim to be back by dinner, but I may be late. If so, leave the kitchen door unlocked for me and don't worry about leaving me any dinner, I'll provide my own." 

Petunia gave a shaky nod. "Do you need money?" she asked, and Harry knew she was trying to placate him. 

He smiled at her, a little cruel. "Not today," he allowed before stepping past Vernon and starting from the kitchen. 

"Boy," Petunia called after him, and Harry glanced back at her over his shoulder. "Your uncle." 

"The spell will dissipate once he's past the ward lines," Harry commented, then returned to walking towards the front door. 

Vernon rushed past him while he was putting his trainers on – not that he'd be wearing them long, but it would look odd if he went wandering around the neighbourhood barefoot – and Harry smiled at his back, quite pleased at the lack of bellowing. Perhaps he'd make the spell a permanent addition to the man. Assuming he could figure out a way to have it reapply every time he entered the house, since the wards would remove any magic cast on people crossing them. (Meant to keep anyone from bringing a curse through the wards by way of a muggle, he knew.) Perhaps something on the doorknob? It would have to be simple, given his lack of wand.

Harry walked for a ways along the pavement once he was out of the house, going in the opposite direction from Mrs Figg's house. Once he dubbed himself a good distance from the house and the wards he knew surrounded it, he started looking for a good place to transform and hide his clothing, which wouldn't change with him like it did with animagi. Obnoxiously. (At least lycanthropy cured his poor vision, so he wouldn't have to worry about needing his glasses if he had to transform on the way.) 

He found a bit of shrubbery that he could squeeze behind to hide from view, and a flick of his fingers had a weak muggle repelling charm blanketing them. He stopped to make sure he wasn't being observed by any cats – he honestly had no idea which of the neighbourhood cats were kneazles who reported to his watcher – before scurrying into the bushes and undressing, trying to ignore the uncomfortable poking of branches. Then he shoved a wad of his shirt into his mouth before he focused on transforming, uncertain if the change would still hurt when it was purposeful. 

It turned out the transformation was still agony, and he ended up spitting out a torn shirt once he could make his jaw unclench. He glared at the shirt for a long moment, then shook himself and looked down at himself, letting out an irritated growl at what he found. 

It shouldn't have surprised him to discover his wolf form was small, more pup than adult wolf, but it sort of did; every werewolf he'd seen transform had been an adult, and so had an adult wolf form. 

_'Well,'_ he thought as he slipped from his hiding space, _'this rather limits my travel speed.'_

His original intention had been to spend no more than ten hours getting to the Burrow – which he could have easily managed had he been an adult wolf – then borrow a wand from someone – Wormtail, if he could get the bastard to transform – and apparate to London and Imperius the rat into turning himself in to the Ministry. But he had no idea how quickly this form could move, nor how long he could keep the speed up. 

_'Nothing for it,'_ he decided as he started in the direction he knew the Burrow lay – he'd wait until he was closer before transforming and casting a Point Me. _'Can't put Sirius' freedom or my sanity on hold just because I'm a pup.'_ He snorted. _'Not like there's anyone to worry if I go missing for an extra day, anyway.'_

-0-

In the end, Harry managed to catch a ride on a lorry after an hour of trotting near the roads he knew were going in the right direction. He ended up wasting almost two hours in Bristol when the lorry made a delivery and lunch stop, but the whole trip still took him far less time than it otherwise might have. 

_'That's one nice thing about being a pup,'_ he thought as he started trotting again, having parted from the lorry in Exeter and stopped to cast his Point Me spell, _'people are far less likely to notice a small wolf hiding in the back of a lorry than they are to notice a great big wolf.'_ Speed may have been an issue, and he was sure it would be harder to scare people by turning into a pup than it would be to turn into an adult wolf, but it was much easier to get around unnoticed. 

It took about another hour to reach the Burrow, and Harry was familiar enough with the area that he didn't need a second casting of the Point Me to find the house, which was probably for the best, considering how many magical families lived around here; the less transforming he did, the less chance there was of someone catching him out. (Not that going to the Burrow didn't chance that already...) 

In the end, his small form served him perfectly in hunting Scabbers down, because no one there was paying enough attention to notice a wolf pup sneaking in the opened back door. He made it up to the second floor without notice, finally stopping outside the closed door of Percy's room. 

_'Well,'_ he realised, sitting on the landing and staring at the barrier, _'this is a slight problem.'_

It was actually sort of pathetic that the door so distracted him, that he didn't notice he wasn't alone on the landing until hands wrapped around his middle and lifted him into the air. 

Harry immediately growled, baring his teeth in a clear threat as he turned his head so he could look over his shoulder. The wolf inside him wanted to bite and claw at the person holding him, but Harry managed to push the instincts away, having no interest in harming any of the Weasleys. 

Blue eyes stared back at him, amused for a brief moment before they suddenly widened in realisation. The boy – Harry realised it was Bill after a moment, thrown by the lack of familiar scarring and his youth – turned and hurried up to the third floor, where he stepped into an open room and shoved the door closed before setting Harry down. "You're a werewolf," he breathed. 

Harry froze, heart thudding too-fast in his chest. How could Bill possibly– 

_'Right, he's going to make Head Boy,'_ Harry reminded himself, staring up at the eldest Weasley boy with narrowed eyes. _'Not as creature-mad as Charlie, but he's old enough that he's probably had at least one class covering werewolves, and Ron _did_ say he took Care; it's quite likely he knows the difference between a normal wolf and a werewolf. And just because I'm a pup, doesn't mean the differences aren't obvious.'_

Harry shook his head and grit his teeth against the pain, then forced his body back into his human shape. 

"Merlin," Bill breathed out before a heavy blanket was draped over Harry and a careful hand touched the top of his head for a brief moment before it was snatched away, as though its owner was used to easing another's pain with physical contact, but remembered himself at the last moment. "How–?" 

"How can I change against the moon?" Harry suggested, forcing himself to sit up and not show how much he just wanted to lay there for a couple hours and sleep off the strain of the day. "Dunno. I've always been able to do it." 

Bill stared at him for a long moment, eyes wide and intelligent. "That's...bloody amazing." 

Harry blinked; he'd honestly not expected that response. "Would be better if it didn't hurt so much," he heard himself saying. 

Bill snapped to attention. "Oh, crap. Do you need any–" 

"No," Harry made himself say, though he'd have appreciated a muscle relaxant; the fewer people who knew he was here, the better, and Bill collecting potions for him chanced questions. 

Bill considered him for a moment, gaze searching, before asking, "Why are you in my house?" 

Harry couldn't stop a smile, far too amused at the fact that the reason for his presence had taken a backseat to both curiosity and his own wellbeing. He would always adore the Weasleys and their selfless bravery. "I'm looking for someone." 

"Who?" Bill asked. "I mean, it can't be easy to talk to one of us if you're..." He trailed off and motioned to Harry, who was currently wrapped in Bill's comforter. 

"Running around as a wolf? Naked?" Harry suggested, and Bill grimaced. Harry considered him for a moment, debating his options, before admitting, "I'm looking for a man named Peter. He's an animagus, a rat, so coming as a human wouldn't really have helped me that much." 

Bill's eyes had widened when Harry said he was looking for a rat, and he knew the older boy had figured out he meant Scabbers. "A grey rat?" he asked. 

Harry shrugged. "Maybe? I'm not completely clear on his colouring, but I know he's missing a toe on his right forepaw." 

Bill definitely knew who Harry was talking about. "I can get him for you," he promised as he got to his feet. 

Harry reached out and caught Bill's robe as it occurred to him that having Bill turn Wormtail in would almost work better than Harry dragging him back to London and Imperiusing the traitor, given that he wasn't completely certain he could procure a wand to pull it off with, and he knew better than to try casting an Unforgivable wandless. "Wait. Can you... Your dad works for the Ministry, right?" 

Bill frowned. "Yeah." 

Harry nodded. "Could you ask your dad to take him in to the aurors? He's a Death Eater." 

Bill's eyes went wide. "What?" he breathed, horrified. "A _Death Eater_?" 

Harry didn't have to fake his regretful wince at the crack in Bill's voice. "Yeah. He's kind of a shit one, but he was absolutely working for V–You-Know-Who at the end there. Betrayed my parents to him and framed my godfather for it." 

Bill reached down and dragged Harry to his feet. "Come on. We'll tell Mum–" 

"I'm sorry," Harry interrupted, pulling away and trying to keep from letting on how very much not steady he felt standing upright right then. "Look, it's best I'm not involved in this, if you've got it, right? The Ministry isn't really fond of my sort." 

"But, surely they won't–" 

Harry laughed, the sound too old, too broken, to rightly come from a child, and Bill looked away, whole body tense. "It's always nice to see someone still has faith in the Ministry," Harry commented, and he couldn't even pretend to care that his voice was heavy with the bitterness of a man who had fought for five years to change the laws restricting werewolves in a Ministry far more lenient than this one, only to have everything undone practically overnight. 

Harry closed his eyes and reached up to rub roughly at the corners of his eyes, swaying against his exhaustion. "Just..." He sighed. "Please, just let your parents know about Peter. For your family's sake, if nothing else. I need to start home." And wasn't that just a lovely prospect, trying to find his way back to Surrey on foot. At least it should be easier to find someone going to London than it had been to find a ride to Exeter. Hopefully. 

"Hey, whoa, no way," Bill insisted, spinning and catching Harry's shoulders. "You look dead on your feet, kid. Why don't you spend the night? Get some sleep and such. I can bring you some food and you can leave in the morning." 

That was tempting, so very tempting, but Harry wasn't sure he could chance it. Not because he needed to get back to the Dursleys, but because of the chance that he'd get caught if he stayed in the Burrow. The fewer of his secrets others knew, the better off he'd be, he knew. _Especially_ when one of his secrets was that he was a dangerous magical creature that the Ministry would see dead in a heartbeat. (Bad enough that normal werewolves turned once a moon, but one that could turn whenever he wanted? And, at that, a _child_? Oh, he was someone's walking heart attack.) 

"No one needs to know you're here. Promise," Bill swore, apparently reading Harry's mind. 

Harry didn't give a verbal agreement, just sank back down onto the ground, curling in the comforter. "Yeah, okay," he agreed quietly. 

A gentle hand ruffled his hair, the action seeming almost fond. "Get some sleep, kid. I'll go take care of Scabbers." 

Harry let himself be helped up onto Bill's bed and curled up in his comforter. Once the boy left, though, Harry grit his teeth and forced himself back into his wolf form, figuring that would be the safest way to sleep. 

Well, so long as no one snuck up on him. 

-0-

When Harry woke, it was well after dark and Bill was on the bed next to him, halfway curled around Harry's wolf form and fast asleep. He slipped carefully from the bed and let his nose lead him to where a plate had been left next to the door with a loosely tied scroll next to it. The scroll had 'Growly' written on it and Harry huffed in amusement at Bill's sense of humour before turning his attention on the plate of food and settling in to clean it. 

Once the food was gone, Harry nosed the scroll onto the plate, then carefully picked it up between his teeth, pawed the cracked door open enough to let himself out, and made his way down to the ground floor. 

In the kitchen, he left both scroll and plate on the floor below the sink, then hurried off to the small laundry that he knew was attached. A moment's silent agony saw him back in his human form, and he searched through the laundry for a robe that would both fit him and wasn't too nasty from having been worn by rowdy children. 

Once he was dressed, he returned to the kitchen and set the plate in the sink, where it immediately started washing itself, and opened the scroll.

>   
>  _'Growly,_   
>  _'Realised I didn't know your name, so this will have to serve. Though, honestly, I'm not even sure you can read. You look about Ginny or Ron's age, and neither of them can read, but you also seem much smarter than either of them. Figured I'd take a chance._   
>  _'I admit, I half expect to wake up and find you gone. That's okay. I do hope to hear from you again, if only so I know you made out okay._   
>  _'Stay safe, kid. And feel free to drop back by if you need somewhere to lay low._   
>  _'Bill Weasley'_   
> 

Harry smiled at the scroll for a long moment before slipping it into one of the pockets of his borrowed robe. Very likely, Bill would find out who he was very soon, especially once the _Prophet_ got wind of Peter Pettigrew still being alive. 

_'Well,'_ Harry thought as he glanced towards the fireplace and the little pot of floo powder on the mantle above it, _'I'll have to send the robe back, anyway. Maybe I'll write him a letter back.'_ Years of familiarity with an older Bill left him with a mental image of Bill's likely expression upon receiving such a letter, and Harry had to muffle a chuckle. 

Once he felt calm, he turned his mind to the problem of where he'd floo to. It would have to be somewhere in the alleys, he knew, but somewhere, too, that would both be open at this ridiculous hour of the night, and unlikely to question an almost-five-year-old wandering around. And he'd need to go by Gringotts to get money enough to both buy himself a set of robes and rent out an owl to send the current robes back. Gringotts and the owl post office wouldn't be an issue, as both were open at all hours, but the only robe shops that would be open were down Knockturn. 

Harry blinked. "Oh," he whispered. Of _course_. He could floo to the non-human pub down Knockturn. He'd still get odd looks for being a child, but he could defend himself with his non-human half or magic and people would back off without him needing to worry about the Ministry hearing about him. 

He reached for the floo pot, only to snarl upon realising he couldn't reach it without dragging a chair over, which he did. He took out a pinch, then shoved the chair back into place before tossing the powder into the grate and stepping into the resulting green flames. "The Bloody Eyetooth," he announced, voice steady. 

He stumbled out into a darkened room and six pairs of eyes immediately turned to stare at him as the fire returned to red and orange flames behind him. 

"Fresh meat," one man practically purred before flashing a fanged smile at Harry. 

Harry replied by baring too-sharp teeth and snarling, "Try it and I'll rip your throat out, bloodsucker." 

"The pup has claws," another vampire commented from where she was relaxing against the bar. 

A man stepped forward, then, eyes glowing in the firelight. There was a level of awe in his expression that Harry hadn't expected to see, and he took a half-step back even as he identified him as a werewolf by his scent. 

" _Alpha Lord_ ," he breathed before kneeling before him and baring his throat to him. 

Harry blinked at him once, twice, then croaked, "What?" 

Another werewolf peeled away from the tables, this one a woman, and approached them. She didn't kneel, but her head was tilted to show deference and her eyes glowed in that same way. "You are the Alpha Lord, are you not?" she asked, though it was clear she already knew what his response should be, even if Harry didn't have a clue what was going on. "You are a true-born werewolf." 

Harry shook his head. "I'm– No. No, I'm not–" 

"You change against the moon," she explained. 

"Oh. Well, yes. But I wasn't born–" 

She shook her head, even as she dropped to her knees next to the first werewolf. "It doesn't matter. You are the Alpha Lord." 

The female vampire at the bar leant forward. "This _boy_ is your leader of prophecy?" she demanded, eyes raking over Harry's small form. 

Harry had no idea what was going on, but he couldn't stand to be underestimated, not amongst those who would eat him alive if he showed a moment's weakness, so he snarled and motioned with his hand, sending a burning coal from the fireplace behind him flying across the room to hover in front of her face. "I suggest, _madam_ ," he spat, the address dripping with scorn, "that you not underestimate me based on my apparent age." 

The vampire wrapped her hand around the coal, hissing at the burn it caused. But she was smiling when she met Harry's gaze again, approval clear in her bloodshot eyes. "Message received, Alpha Lord." 

The other three vampires in the room immediately ducked their heads, taking their cue from the female. 

Harry stared around at the room for a moment before stepping forward and touching both of the werewolves' shoulders. "Get up, for Merlin's sake. And someone explain this bullshit to me before I lose my temper." 

The two werewolves obediently rose, but it was the vampire at the bar who motioned for him to join her, snapping her fingers for the vampire bartender to attend them while Harry walked over. "What will you have, Alpha Lord?" 

"My name is Harry," Harry informed her as he struggled up onto the stool next to her. When she offered him a hand of assistance, he sighed and accepted it, knowing he would only look more the fool if he kept struggling. "And I'll have tea, if you're willing to open a tab for a child," he added drily. 

"You will find, Alpha Lord Harry," the female vampire said as the bartender went about getting his tea, "that there are very few non-humans who will accept your money once they figure out who you are." 

Harry tapped irritatedly at the bar. "Oh, this sounds abso-fucking-lutely wonderful. Please wait to continue ruining my day for a moment so I can fortify myself with some tea, if you would?" 

The vampire laughed, the sound entirely too pleasant for a woman who consumed the life force of humans. "Oh, I think you and I will get along wonderfully, Alpha Lord." 

"Mmhm. And you are...?" 

The vampire flashed him a fond smile as he accepted his tea. "I am Countess Carmilla Sanguina." 

Harry let his eyebrows raise and took a careful sip of his tea before commenting, "I was under the – clearly mistaken – impression that you'd died over two hundred years ago." No wonder the other vampires had deferred to her. 

Carmilla's eyes danced as she sipped at a wineglass of blood. "It does ease the minds of the humans if they think we vampires don't survive past two hundred." 

Harry snorted. "Ah, of course. We must leave the humans with their pleasant delusions, lest they discover they have far less power than they think they do." Carmilla laughed again and Harry hid his smirk in his teacup. When she quieted, he said, "Now then, do forgive, in advance, any show of abhorrence, but I've never been fond of prophecies." 

"Few are, especially when such spell out their own fate," Carmilla agreed and Harry sneered into his tea. "This prophecy was given long ago by a dying centaur, long before even my time." 

Harry raised his eyebrows again at that, but busied himself with his tea to keep from commenting. 

Carmilla nodded. "I have never heard the exact wording – doubtless, it has been lost to time, knowing how well werewolves and centaurs keep records –" Harry snorted "–but the gist was a foretelling of a werewolf who would be able to change whenever he pleased and would lead all non-humans to take back their rightful place as Magic's favoured." 

"As long as she only gets the _rest_ of you non-humans," a genderless voice said from behind Harry, and Carmilla let out an undignified sound and pushed away from her stool. 

"Hello, Death," Harry said, glancing over his shoulder at the being standing behind him. "Getting possessive in your old age?" 

Death let out a rattling sound, like someone in the process of dying trying to breathe, and Harry realised that was how it sighed. "Most amusing, Master." 

"I rather thought so," Harry agreed. He took a sip of his tea, then turned around on his stool so he could observe Death without straining his neck. "You're scaring my new allies, Death. Not cool." 

Death shrugged and let its bony fingers click-clack against the handle of its scythe. "Apologies, Master. I shall endeavour to avoid appearing again when there are others about." 

Harry considered that for a moment, then shrugged himself. "No, don't let me stop you," he decided and got the distinct impression that Death was quite pleased with that allowance. "Did you want something, other than staking your claim?" Harry frowned, a thought occurring to him, and he leant forward and tapped his forehead. "And what the fuck did you do to my scar, by the way?" 

Death cackled, the sound making everyone else around the room shudder. "I am possessive, Master," it pointed out. 

Harry sighed. "Great. Did you fuck with the other horcruxes too, or was it just me?" 

Death shrugged. "Only you, Master." There was a beat of silence, heavy with intent, before Death added, "I _can_ affect the others, should you request it." 

Harry tapped his chin with one finger, considering the offer. "Hm. No, not right this moment. I'd like to talk to him first; if I've some centaur prophecy hanging over my head saying I'm going to bring the non-humans back into power, I expect he'll serve as something of an ally, at least for so long as we can stand each other." 

"Are you sure you don't wish to possess the Stone, Master?" Death hinted. 

Harry stilled, temptation washing over him. "Well," he murmured, mouth feeling suddenly dry, "when you put it like _that_..." He smiled at Death, teeth showing. "Without the flesh eating curse, if you would. And do keep it intact for the moment; I know how to manage Tom, should he try my patience." 

"As Master requests," Death agreed before vanishing. 

Harry turned back to his tea and had just brought the cup to his lips when the Peverell ring appeared before him. He immediately curled his fingers around the artefact and let out a quiet breath. It was nice to have one of the Hallows again, even if there was no way he could wear it. He wondered, a bit idly, how hard it would be to get the Wand from Dumbledore. 

Carmilla slid back onto her stool, clearly shaken. "Behold," she murmured, "the Alpha Lord, Death's Master." 

Harry flashed her a smile that was all teeth. "I did warn you not to underestimate me, my Lady," he pointed out before setting down his empty cup and slipping awkwardly off his stool. 

"So you did, my Lord," she agreed wryly. As Harry started for the door, intent on getting his shopping done before he got distracted again, Carmilla called after him, "Others will wish to pay you tribute, Alpha Lord." 

Harry closed his eyes, irritation sweeping through him, only to be chased away with a sense of resignation that reminded him disgustingly of his days playing saviour for the humans. He glanced back at her and said, "I will be here the night of every dark moon to play to everyone's expectations. However, should anyone approach me outside this building and show me deference – _especially_ if I'm with humans – I will brand them Omega and throw them to the humans. Am I clear?" 

Every head in the pub bowed in understanding, so Harry left, feeling uncomfortable in his too-young skin. 

_'Well, if nothing else, it will be entertaining to watch ancient vampires dancing to the whims of a five year old,'_ he decided as he turned towards Gringotts and flashed his overly sharp teeth at a staring hag. 

-0-

Bill Weasley stared disbelievingly down at the letter than had been waiting for him with a set of Ron's robes when he'd woken. He couldn't help but fondly think, as he burned the signature into his eyes, _'That smug little git.'_

>   
>  _'Bill,_   
>  _'I admit to a certain fondness for Growly; at least you didn't go with Hairy, or I might have actually chanced Azkaban time and bitten you. (I really wouldn't have.)_   
>  _'You weren't wrong to expect I could read, though it is true I'll be attending Hogwarts with Ron. I have a particular habit for being a bit ahead of the curve, and only time can tell whether that will serve me well in future or not._   
>  _'I borrowed a robe from the laundry so I might floo to Diagon without scandalising anyone. I've bought myself a replacement, so I thought I should return the borrowed robes. They were hit with a cleaning charm, but I suspect your mum would still prefer to send them through the cycle, so do feel free to return them from whence they came._   
>  _'If all goes to plan in regards to Peter's incarceration, I should have no need to make use of your kind offer, though I do appreciate it._   
>  _'Harry J. Potter'_   
> 

.


	3. Two – Exeunt From Hell, Stage Left

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *opens calendar for 1985 with the phases of the moon on it*
> 
> I'm so glad everyone seems to be excited about Bill. He will absolutely be sticking around. (He'll show back up next chapter, even.)
> 
> For those of you who follow me on tumblr, a scene from this chapter got posted as a Sunday Six at the start of September. (For those of you who don't, it's a thing where you post six(-ish) sentences from something you're working on each Sunday. I usually forget, though, and I never seem able to keep it at six sentences. XP)

The adult Dursleys were rather sufficiently cowed from Harry's show of force that first morning, and Dudley hadn't yet got to the point where he invented Harry Hunting, so the following week at Privet Drive was remarkably peaceful. He didn't bother demanding the playroom be handed over as his new bedroom, secure in the certainty that he would be given to Sirius soon enough, and he still helped with the meals because he was used to making food – both as an adult in that other reality and before the merge in this reality, he'd spent so long making meals for himself and variations of what he called 'family', that he felt twitchy if he didn't assist – but otherwise refused to help around the house. 

Petunia had quickly developed the theory that out of sight meant out of mind and wasted no time every morning ensuring he had anything he might need to keep him busy out of the house until dinner, even going so far as to offer him muggle money, in spite of the fact that he wasn't even five yet and wouldn't get far with the money on his own. One thing she made absolutely certain he had, however, was a key to the house, which he kept on a length of twine with the Peverell ring around his neck, so he wouldn't lose it if he decided to run around as a wolf. The twine and ring had been charmed within an inch of their lives with the strongest Notice-Me-Not and muggle repelling charms that he'd been able to cast with the wand he'd borrowed from a drunk wizard he'd tripped over in Knockturn on his way back from Gringotts that first trip out. (If the wand had been less finicky, Harry would have pocketed it, but in the end it hadn't been worth the boost in the strength of his spells.) 

Two days before Harry's fifth birthday – which was, amusingly, the full moon – Harry was woken by a determined knocking on the front door while Petunia was only just stirring upstairs. While he was perfectly capable of opening his locked cupboard – honestly, why they even bothered with the lock any more was a mystery to him, but he supposed it let Vernon feel safer – and answering the door himself, he saw no reason to save his aunt the minor embarrassment of greeting visitors in her nightgown and robe. 

Not quite two minutes later, Petunia hurried down the stairs over Harry's head and he heard the front door opening. There was a pregnant pause, then Petunia demanded, "What do _you sort_ want here?" 

"Nice to see you again too, Petunia," a rough voice commented, and Harry's eyes went wide as he recognised the speaker: Sirius! It had worked! 

"May we come in, Mrs Dursley?" a smooth voice that sounded vaguely familiar requested. 

"It's far too–" Petunia started. 

Sirius interrupted, "Oh, you wouldn't really leave us to stand on the stoop all morning, would you?" 

Harry grinned; Sirius clearly knew enough about his aunt to know exactly which threats would get what he wanted the fastest. And, actually, that was a pretty good indicator that he'd survived the dementors so far intact; Harry knew he'd managed, of course, but he couldn't help but wonder how much better Sirius was now he was freed eight years earlier. 

"Fine," Petunia snapped, and there came the sound of multiple people stepping into the hallway. 

Harry took a long sniff, trying to see if he could identify anyone by smell, or at least know how many people were there. None of them were particularly familiar to his werewolf senses, which only meant he'd never known them after he'd been turned in that other reality, but he could tell there were three magical males out there with his aunt. One was clearly Sirius, and the other... why was that voice familiar? 

"We came to collect Harry," Sirius wasted no time in saying. 

"Collect him?" Petunia demanded, shrewd. "Like, what, for good?" 

"That is still for deba–" an elderly voice that Harry recognised all-too-well started: Dumbledore. 

"Yeah, he's coming home with me," Sirius insisted. 

"A trial run, if you'll recall, cousin," the smooth voice practically purred. "You still must prove yourself capable of caring for a child as... _important_ as Harry Potter." 

Harry's eyes went wide as he finally placed the speaker: Lucius Malfoy. Well, that was an unexpected development. He wondered if Dumbledore had been required to tweak the wards to let the Death Eater onto the property, or if he'd simply torn down the particular part that repelled the Dark Mark; he didn't expect that Fudge or whoever was in charge of the Ministry had given Dumbledore much choice about bringing the 'advisor' along, though he was a bit surprised that an auror hadn't been sent as well, just as a clearer show of the Ministry's hand. 

With everyone identified, Harry decided he was done playing the silent observer, especially since he rather sort of needed to use the loo, so he knocked on the door to his cupboard, loud enough that he would be heard, but not so loud that they'd think he was attention-seeking. 

There was a loud silence on the other side of the door, then Dumbledore, voice heavy with disappointment, suggested, "Why don't you let him out, Petunia." 

The door unlocked and opened to show Harry's aunt, her face pale. None of the wizards could see Harry from their current angle, so he took the chance to flash her a nasty smile that was full of too-sharp teeth. She took a terrified step back, fingers tightening around the edge of the door. 

Harry schooled his expression into that of a meek child and peeked out of the doorway of the cupboard. He stared at the wizards down the hall for a long moment, taking in the fury in Sirius' eyes, the disappointment in Dumbledore's, and the carefully blank expression Lucius wore, then scurried past Petunia for the ground floor toilet. 

As soon as the door was closed behind him, Harry allowed a vicious smile; there was no way Dumbledore would be able to convince the Ministry that Harry needed to return to Privet Drive, no matter how bad a guardian Sirius might turn out to be. Because he knew he wouldn't be able to fool Dumbledore for long, not when a quick peek into the mind of an unknowing Dursley would show just how not-cowed he was, but fooling Lucius would put the Ministry against the Headmaster, which was the far more important bit. 

And, hey, if Sirius started out thinking he was pathetic, Harry could get away with more. 

He went through his morning motions with his usual efficiency, then took a moment to settle himself into his assumed persona: shoulders hunched and posture slumped forward so he took up less space; hands kept close to his chest, as though prepared to cover either his head or stomach at a moment's notice; eyes that kept twitching, watching for danger everywhere. 

He found them in the sitting room, Sirius and Dumbledore on the sofa, while Lucius had taken Vernon's usual chair. Vernon was standing next to the television, purple with rage and glaring at the intrusion to his usual Monday routine, while Petunia fidgeted nervously in the doorway. 

Harry stopped next to Petunia and blinked up at her uncertainly, asking, "Aunt Petunia?" 

She flinched away from him, fingers clasping together against her chest. "What?" she demanded, voice harsh with strain. 

Harry ducked his head, reacting to her tone in a manner he hoped would be convincingly abused-child. "Do I need to make breakfast for your guests, too?" he asked quietly. 

"Excuse me," Sirius snapped, sounding furious enough that Harry was impressed he hadn't cursed either of the Dursleys yet (though, if Dumbledore was smart, he'd already have taken Sirius' wand), "did you just say you're the one who makes breakfast here, Harry?" 

Harry glanced towards his godfather and made himself shrink back, towards the other side of the doorway from where Petunia stood, as though hoping to put it between himself and the adults. "Y-yes, sir," he whispered, ducking his head. 

"You nasty, vile excuse for a woman," Sirius snarled, starting up from his seat, only to be restrained by Dumbledore. "He's your _nephew_!"

Petunia squared her shoulders. "He's a freak." 

Even terrified of him, Petunia played the part of abuser perfectly. Really, if he didn't hate her so much, Harry might have thanked her for making his act look more genuine. 

"Sirius," Dumbledore said, voice strained, "why don't you take Harry into the kitchen and introduce yourself to him. Explain what's going on." 

Sirius took a very obvious breath, then glared at Petunia until she'd scurried over to Vernon before he stood. He moved towards the doorway with careful motions, hands held obviously in front of him, as though trying to reassure Harry he meant him no harm. 

Harry couldn't stop one eyebrow from raising; he'd honestly not expected his godfather to have any idea about how to approach an abused kid. 

Sirius' eyes narrowed and Harry realised his slip. He immediately ducked his head and led the way into the kitchen. He could feel magic settling over the doorway into the sitting room behind him, and he hoped Dumbledore yelled a lot, even if Harry knew it wouldn't do any good. 

A heavy hand came down on Harry's shoulder and he was turned to face Sirius, who wore a shrewd expression. "Alright, kid. Drop the act." 

Harry shrugged his free shoulder and met his godfather's stare without flinching. "Who are you?" he asked, because he figured that was a question he would be interested in, had he not already known. 

Sirius searched his face even as he explained, "I'm Sirius Black, your godfather." 

Harry tilted his head to one side. "Godfather?" he repeated and Sirius nodded. "Are you here to free me from Hell?" 

Sirius raised both eyebrows at him. "Really." 

Harry snorted and pulled away. "Just because I'm not really meek doesn't mean this place isn't Hell. I really do call the cupboard my bedroom, and I really do make breakfast every morning." He tapped his chin while Sirius let out an angry growl. "And dinner, actually. Sometimes I get sent out to weed Aunt Petunia's garden." Not untrue, but the only time Harry'd done so in the past week, it had been his own choice. 

"Those nasty, wretched–"

"Are you here to get me out?" Harry interrupted. As amusing as it was to watch Sirius lose his temper at Harry's muggle relatives, he was rather more interested in leaving the house entirely. "You said something to that effect in the front hall, right? When Aunt Petunia let you all in?" 

Sirius very obviously got himself under control and motioned that they should retire to the table. "Why don't we sit down and talk?" 

Harry shrugged. "Sure. Want some orange juice?" he offered as he wandered over to the fridge to pull out the jug. He never got any, himself, and hadn't cared enough to try his luck now that Vernon and Petunia were terrified of him, but he figured it was a fair going away gift. 

"Uhm, sure," Sirius agreed uncertainly. 

Harry nodded as he absently caught the footstool kept in front of the sink and brought it over so he could reach the glasses. He pulled down two and poured the juice, then put both it and the footstool away before bringing the two glasses to the table. "Talk away, Sirius," Harry suggested as he settled comfortably in his chair. 

Sirius considered him for a moment, then asked, "What do you know about your parents?" 

"I was told they died in an automobile accident," Harry reported with a shrug. 

Sirius' expression tightened. "They didn't. There was a...horrible man after them – after _you_ – and another friend of ours, Peter, betrayed their whereabouts to him. He came and killed them both, but when he tried to kill you, something went wrong, and he died instead." 

Harry tilted his head to one side, intrigued by Sirius not hiding the fact that Voldemort had been after Harry himself. Though, he didn't suppose this was the story that Dumbledore would prefer Harry know. (That, or they assumed Harry was too young to read between the lines and figure out the truth. Which, well, to be fair, if he hadn't been merged with an older version of himself who knew everything already, he wouldn't have been able to.) "I'm going to assume this man didn't come in with a butcher knife," Harry offered, tone dry. 

Sirius considered him for a moment. "No," he said, eyes curious, "he used magic." When Harry just nodded, Sirius said, "Not something I would have expected Petunia to have told you about." 

Harry snorted. "No. I, ah, sort of accidentally-on-purpose may have made things happen. Magic is a sensible explanation." 

Sirius flashed him a smile that was a bit too sharp around the edges. "Hence why Petunia actually seems afraid of you. For the record, don't do that. Off the record, I wholeheartedly approve." 

Harry saluted him with a grin. 

Sirius leant back in his chair, clearly amused. "You're not at all what I expected when I was told they'd stuck you with Petunia." 

Harry considered that for a moment. "No," he agreed thoughtfully, "I don't expect I'm what most people will be expecting, not knowing where I come from. But one must learn to survive where one can." 

Sirius' expression darkened. "That is true," he agreed grimly before rubbing a hand over his face. "Merlin, your parents are probably turning in their graves right now, knowing you've learnt that lesson so young." He pinned Harry with the most heartbreakingly sad expression Harry had ever seen on his godfather's face. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here for you, pup." 

Harry swallowed against a strange knot in his throat. "I don't–" He shook his head, realising he hadn't yet been told why Sirius hadn't been there. "Why? Where were you?" 

Sirius looked away, towards his orange juice. "Everyone thought I was the one who betrayed you and your parents, so I've been in prison. Some kid caught Peter in his animagus form last week and they brought me in for a proper trial." 

_'And hospital stay,'_ Harry assumed as he sipped at his juice. "So I can stay with you now?" Harry asked, and the hopeful note in his voice wasn't faked, not even a little, because he already knew what a life with the Dursleys would be like, and there was a huge chunk of him – a lonely little boy given memories of a man who had _cared about him_ in another life, then been cruelly ripped away – who wanted a parent, even if he felt a little too old for one. 

Sirius moved before Harry could process he was going to, and he found himself wrapped tight in arms that were still a little frail from almost four years in Azkaban. "Yeah, Harry," Sirius whispered, voice choked. "Yeah, you can stay with me." 

Harry carelessly let his glass slip from his fingers – uncaring as it hit the tile at their feet and shattered – and grabbed a tight hold of his godfather's jacket, pressing his face against Sirius' shoulder to hide the rising flood of tears. Because Harry had the memories of thousands of hugs, knew he must have been hugged by his parents when he was a baby, but _this was his first hug_. This was the one that he would remember, that would set the stage for hundreds and thousands more. 

"Everything alright in here?" Dumbledore asked from the doorway. 

Sirius tried to straighten, but Harry refused to let go, so Sirius picked him up with a watery laugh. "Yeah," he said. "We're good." 

Harry was not-quite-five and considered it perfectly within his right to curl up in Sirius' hold and stay right where he was. Which, when you considered it, wasn't a bad move for an abused kid who had just found out he was going to leave his abusers; you find someone who promises to keep you safe and you _stay with them_.

"Excellent," Dumbledore said, and he sounded honestly pleased. "Harry?" 

Harry peered up at the Headmaster, making a concerted effort to appear meek, if only to give himself a valid reason for not meeting the man's eyes. "Sir?" he asked. 

"Was there anything you wanted to take with you?" 

Harry considered that for a moment. The only thing he owned that he was particularly attached to was the Peverell ring, which was hidden under his shirt with the Dursley house key (which he'd keep just because he didn't want to chance Dumbledore seeing the Stone), but he knew he had two crayon stubs and a mangled army man that had been his treasures before he'd merged with that other him, and they would serve him well in his act. So he nodded and Sirius reluctantly set him down. 

With a great show of uncertainty, Harry shuffled past the adults blocking the doorway – a gleeful little fire burnt in his chest to see Petunia looking towards the shattered glass and spilled juice that he'd left behind with a constipated expression – and opened his cupboard. It only took him a moment to find his crayons and army man, then he stepped back out into the hall, the three things held tight to his chest. 

The three wizards had moved back towards the front door, and all three very obviously took note of Harry's handful of treasures. Sirius motioned him forward with a tight expression and Harry gladly allowed himself to be picked up again, holding his handful between their chests with one hand while the other wrapped in Sirius' jacket again. 

"We shall depart, then," Dumbledore announced, an obvious note of displeasure in his voice, before he opened the door and led the way out. 

Once they were out on the street and heading towards Mrs Figg's house – Harry assumed they'd used her floo from the Ministry – Dumbledore said, "Sirius, I would like to have Poppy look Harry over before you take him home." 

"Surely, Headmaster, he can be seen at St. Mungo's," Lucius murmured. 

"Poppy has seen to Harry before," Dumbledore replied. 

Harry raised an eyebrow at that, intrigued. Really? He snorted quietly to himself as he realised when that would have been. _'Ah, of course. Dumbledore probably had her look at me after the attack, to make sure there were no poor effects from the scar, if nothing else. And now, of course, he's probably worried about its lack. Does he know what it is, yet?'_

They did, indeed, use Mrs Figg's floo. Dumbledore had Lucius floo back to the Ministry first, then led the way through to Hogwarts himself, Sirius flooing with Harry after him. 

Harry put on an appropriately enthralled expression at every show of magic from one of the adults, as well as wearing it for their entire walk from Dumbledore's office to the Infirmary. 

Madam Pomfrey was awaiting them, McGonagall at her side. "There he is!" Madam Pomfrey called as Sirius stepped forward. She smiled at him when he peered out at her. "Hello, Mr Potter. I'm Poppy Pomfrey, a mediwitch. Do you mind if I run a couple of spells over you, just to see how you're doing?" 

Harry glanced towards Sirius, as though seeking his approval, and the man smiled. "It's fine, Harry," he promised before very firmly setting him down on the nearest bed. "I'm going to be right over there," Sirius added, pointing towards McGonagall and Dumbledore. "Madam Pomfrey'll take care of you." 

"Okay," Harry agreed, keeping his voice quiet and meek. 

Sirius' eyes danced. "And don't think you fooled Albus for a minute with that little act, pup." 

Harry narrowed his eyes. "And why do you say that?" he asked, giving it up; he knew Dumbledore had likely discovered Harry wasn't as meek as he seemed from Petunia or Vernon's minds, but Sirius didn't know he knew that. 

Sirius snorted. "Clever man, Albus Dumbledore," he offered cryptically before leaving Harry to Madam Pomfrey. 

Harry stared after his godfather for a moment, then turned his eyes on the mediwitch. "I expect I'm slightly malnourished and have a couple long-healed broken bones, but I should otherwise be fine." And he _really_ hoped his odd version of lycanthropy didn't show up in Madam Pomfrey's scans. Given, because of the way his other self had contracted the curse – being force-fed the flesh of a werewolf wasn't something commonly suffered – he'd never registered for the usual spells, but there was no guarantee that would hold over to this life, since Death had been messing with the curse. 

Madam Pomfrey's mouth tightened. "I'll be the judge of your condition, Mr Potter," she told him before flicking her wand over him. She was still for a long moment as she read what the spell sent back, then frowned down at him. "You're not incorrect," she allowed. 

Harry forced himself not to show his relief. "I _do_ know how I'm doing, you know." 

Madam Pomfrey turned towards the other adults. "Mr Black," she called and they all looked over, giving her their attention. "Mr Potter will need some supplementary potions to get him to a healthy weight, but he's otherwise in fine shape." 

"And the scar, Poppy?" Dumbledore asked while Sirius flashed Harry a relieved smile. 

Madam Pomfrey huffed. "No sign of it. The malignant magic that had attached itself to him is gone." 

"And the protective shield?" 

"Also vanished." 

Harry blinked. _'Did you seriously have to remove my mother's sacrifice, too?'_ he silently asked Death, not expecting an answer. 

_"It vanished when the horcrux was gone,"_ Death's genderless voice reported in his mind, making Harry twitch in surprise. _"It was not my intention to remove it."_

Harry gave a minute shrug; he didn't suppose it mattered in the grand scheme of things, really, beyond serving as proof that he was no more safe at the Dursleys than he was anywhere else. 

"I see," Dumbledore murmured, staring consideringly at Harry. 

Harry didn't have to pretend nerves as he ducked his head; he could manage rudimentary occlumency barriers, thanks to auror training, but he very much doubted they could stand up to the Headmaster's legilimency skills. 

_"As if I'd let anyone in your head besides me,"_ Death scoffed, clearly paying attention to the current events surrounding Harry. 

_'Don't you have people to be killing?'_ Harry wondered. 

_"They'll keep."_

It was a struggle to keep from laughing at that, but Harry managed to contain his amusement to nothing more than a grin, which was hidden by his ducked head. 

Someone knelt in front of Harry, and he peeked up to find Dumbledore. "Harry," he said, voice kind, "why did you pretend to be scared at the Dursleys'?" 

Harry stared at the man for a moment, confused. Did he really–? "If I didn't, would you have believed they mistreated me?" he asked. 

"Of course I would have," Dumbledore promised, though Harry expected he wouldn't have actually gone searching for how bad it was if not for Harry's act. 

Harry smiled a broken little smile, a child who had already learnt that adults didn't really care. "I'm not going back," he insisted. "I'm going home with Sirius. He promised. He gave me a _hug_."

Dumbledore inclined his head. "I promise you won't ever have to go back to your aunt and uncle's house." 

Harry knew that was only because the lack of his mother's sacrifice meant the blood wards around that house were inoperative, but he accepted the promise all the same. 

There wasn't much more to do after that, beyond Madam Pomfrey handing Sirius the potions Harry would need to take and explaining the dosage and such. Dumbledore politely opened the floo in Madam Pomfrey's office for them, so Sirius flooed them to Grimmauld Place. 

"Sorry this place is such a dump," he offered with a grimace as he set Harry down in the kitchen. "It was my mother's house. I'm going to get us somewhere else to live soon, but this is all I've got for the moment." He glanced around the kitchen, making a face. "Regretfully." 

Harry shrugged and commented, "It's not the Dursleys'," which got a laugh out of Sirius. 

Well, he supposed it was a good chance to grab Slytherin's locket, if nothing else. 

-0-

Sirius had given him the room that Fred and George had slept in on the third floor, and Harry spent a good ten minutes straightening the room up on his own, uninterested in trying to get Kreacher to help. Sirius had said his mother had died about two months before, so the house wasn't quite the pit that Harry remembered, but it was clear that Kreacher had stopped cleaning after Walburga's death, save for a few things that she'd apparently cared enough about that he kept them clean in her memory. 

As soon as his room was clean and Harry's 'treasures' had been set out on the empty table next to the head of the bed (with his copy of the Dursley's house key, just because he couldn't think of anywhere else to leave it when he didn't need it), Harry made his way downstairs. He made a side-trip into the drawing room to get the locket and found Kreacher there, wiping a dirty rag over the glass cases. 

They both froze for a moment, staring at each other, then Kreacher sneered at Harry and muttered, "It is Master's filthy little half-blood." 

"Hello, Kreacher," Harry replied evenly before starting towards the case he remembered the locket being in. 

Kreacher stared after him. "What is the filthy halfblood doing?" he demanded. 

"Looking for Regulus' locket," Harry answered honestly. 

Kreacher was immediately in his way, a small cloud of dust being kicked up from his teleportation. "Nasty, filthy little halfblood," he snarled. 

Harry stared down at the house-elf, unimpressed. "Oh, don't give me that tripe. It's doing no one any good sitting around here, since you can't destroy it. Depending on how much the Dark Lord pisses me off when I, inevitably, see him next, I fully intend to destroy it in front of him so he'll piss off." Not completely true, but if he needed to destroy a horcrux to prove to Voldemort that he wasn't going to play a good little Gryffindor, this would be the one that would cut Voldemort the deepest to lose. Though, really, Harry would be better served destroying the horcrux in the ring so he wouldn't have to give the Resurrection Stone back. 

Kreacher stared at Harry for a long moment before whispering, "Filthy halfblood knows how to destroy the locket?" 

Harry sighed. "The filthy halfblood has a name, and would appreciate it if you used it," he remarked before shaking his head. "As for the locket, yes: Basilisk venom or fiendfyre will destroy it." 

Kreacher snapped his fingers and the locket appeared in his hand. He stared down at it for a moment before holding it out towards Harry, who accepted it and hung it around his neck, hiding it with the ring under his shirt. "Kreacher will procure basilisk venom for Young Master Harry," he announced before vanishing. 

Harry raised an eyebrow at that. He knew where to get some for free, but he honestly wasn't sure if he was a Parselmouth any more, since he hadn't been in that other reality after he'd lost the horcrux, and he hadn't had a way to test it yet in this life. He supposed he could ask Death, but he much preferred working some things out for himself. (As previously discovered, having an all-powerful servant was a horrible thing for him.) 

Since he had to wait for Kreacher to return with the venom – better Sirius not know about the horcruxes, and Kreacher bringing him venom where Sirius could see would invite all sorts of questions – Harry went ahead and took the locket back upstairs to his room. The ring didn't seem to have any sort of detrimental effect on him wearing it all the time, but he already knew the locket would. And, anyway, he was only keeping the ring on his person because of what it really was, not because he wanted a horcrux with him. 

He'd just finished hiding the locket in his empty wardrobe when Kreacher reappeared. "Thank you, Kreacher," he said as he took the offered vial and set it on the opposite side of the wardrobe. "And _you_ ," he added to the locket, which had shuddered at the nearness of the venom, "behave and I won't melt you down to scrap metal. You give me nightmares, you start fucking with my mind, you're out. We clear?" 

There was no response from the locket, but Harry didn't expect one, so he shut the door on it. 

"Does Young Master Harry need more blankets?" Kreacher asked, and Harry looked over towards his bed, which Kreacher was also staring at. 

"No, but thank you," Harry replied. "Hey, Kreacher?" he asked as something occurred to him. 

Kreacher glanced up, hopeful. "Yes?" 

Harry sighed. "Can you try not to antagonise Sirius too much? I'm going to request the same thing of him, but it's only going to work out if you _both_ behave, yeah?" 

Kreacher scowled. "Kreacher will try," he muttered. 

Harry reached forward and gently touched the house-elf's shoulder before he could snap away. "Thank you," Harry said, putting as much gratitude as he could into the words, because he knew he was edging around a minefield when it came to Sirius and Kreacher's relationship. As much as Harry wanted Sirius in his life, it was hard to forget how close he'd got to Kreacher in that other world, or the moment he'd woken from his first change and found the loyal house-elf dead in the kitchen. The _last_ thing he wanted was to see Kreacher sold off because Sirius couldn't stand him. 

Kreacher stared at him for a long moment, looking so very lost, before he pulled back and vanished with a snap of his fingers. 

Harry sighed and rubbed roughly at his face before he turned and made his way down to the kitchen, where Sirius had said they'd meet up once Harry was done getting settled in. 

"Get lost?" Sirius teased when Harry finally stepped into the kitchen. 

Harry rolled his eyes. "No. I met Kreacher." 

Sirius tensed. "If that rotten–"

"He's fine," Harry interrupted, frowning at his godfather. "It took me all of, like, two minutes to reach an understanding with him." He snorted. "It's not like I don't know what it's like to play servant in the house of people who think I'm little better than common rubbish." 

Sirius flinched and looked away. "Look, Harry, Kreacher and I...well, let's just say my family and I never got on, and he sided with them." 

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I sort of got that impression. Though, I've got to tell you, living with a line of heads on a wall? I'd side with the part of the family with power, too." Harry sighed at Sirius' scowl. "Oh, for crying out loud, you two are as bad as each other! Look, I like Kreacher, now he's not calling me names. Can you at least _try_ to play nice, for my sake? Maybe you'll actually get along, without your parents mucking everything up." 

Sirius made a face, but allowed, "Fine, I'll try. But the minute he starts in on the names–!"

"As a reminder," Harry interrupted, unimpressed, "I'm the one who's almost five; if _I_ can play nice, _you_ can play nice." 

That seemed to catch Sirius off guard, for he blinked at Harry in surprise. "Right. Shit. Your birthday's in a couple of days, isn't it?" 

"So they tell me," Harry agreed with an uncaring shrug. 

"I expect the Dursleys never celebrated your birthday," Sirius commented as he stood. 

Harry considered that for a moment. He'd actually got glasses 'for his birthday' when he turned four, because he was having trouble doing chores when he couldn't see perfectly, but he wasn't going to tell Sirius that, not when he didn't need them any more. "They gave me a pillow for my birthday last year," he settled on, though he'd actually stolen the pillow from Marge's guest room the first time Petunia'd let him in there on his own. He'd been terrified for his life the whole way down to his cupboard, and had kept it under his cot for months before he got up the courage to actually use it. Even then, he'd kept expecting to be ordered to put it back, though it had been chewed on by insects and covered in all sorts of nasty little things from being on the floor of his cupboard for so long. 

Sirius' expression tightened. "Right," he bit out before taking a deep breath. "Right," he repeated, sounding much calmer. "Well, that's not how we celebrate birthdays any more. You and me, we're going to Diagon Alley and getting you proper clothing. And then we are going to go shopping, and you can get _whatever you bloody well want_. You want a pet, we'll get you a pet. You want a racing broom, you are getting a damn racing broom. You want some completely useless pretty bauble, we are buying you a completely useless pretty bauble." 

Harry realised he was staring at his godfather, tears in his eyes. This determination to make sure Harry was happy didn't surprise him, since he knew Sirius, but it was one thing to expect unconditional support and love and another thing entirely to actually _receive_ it. "Okay," he managed to get out, voice tiny. 

Sirius smiled, wide and honest, and opened his arms for a hug, which Harry was all too happy to accept. "You and me, pup, we're going to make this an _awesome_ birthday." 

Harry bit his lip, then requested, "Just you and me, though, right?" 

Sirius pulled back and gave him an uncertain look. "You don't want to invite anyone?" 

Harry shrugged. "Who would I ask?" 

Sirius winced. "Right. Well, this year it'll be just you and me, and we'll spend this year making all sorts of friends, so your next birthday we can throw a massive party. Sound good?" 

Harry wasn't completely certain about the 'massive party' bit, but he nodded anyway, letting slip a small smile. "Yeah, sounds good." 

Sirius grinned back. "Excellent. For now, though, we should get some breakfast at the Leaky, then get _you_ some proper clothing. _Then_ we can look for a billion birthday presents." 

"Okay!"

.


	4. Three – Never Quite Perfect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of people asking about Remus. XD He'll show up next chapter and all your questions will be answered. (Or, well, most of them. *cackles*)
> 
> This chapter's a bit choppy, because things are happening, but there's not a great deal to say about them, so it's a bunch of little sections. Sorry about that.

"So," Sirius said once they'd settled in at the Leaky with their food, "did Petunia let you do _anything_ fun?" 

Harry considered that for a moment while nibbling at his toast. "I'm not sure 'let' is the right word," he admitted. "I may or may not have taken the opportunity to add itching powder to the laundry once, and I would hide the remote for the telly all the time, just to make Dudley search for it." Which, well, the laundry one came from that other reality, but he'd hidden the remote on Dudley all the time. 

Sirius snorted. "Well, that's one way to get them back for being sorry excuses for humanity," he decided before shaking his head. "But not really fun in the way I meant. You never got to play ball or anything?" 

"That assumes any ball survived Dudley for longer than ten minutes," Harry replied drily and Sirius winced. "But, no, I never really played with any toys or such. Well, I had my one soldier, and I did manage to steal some paper at one point to draw on, but the pictures got binned when Uncle Vernon found them." 

Harry made a mental note to keep Sirius from ever finding out how many times he'd got a broken bone from Vernon manhandling him, because his godfather looked rather like he was thinking about joining Voldemort just for the chance to torture the Dursleys. 

"What did _you_ like to do for fun when you were my age?" Harry asked, figuring that was a good way to distract his godfather from his murderous thoughts. 

Sirius gratefully took the distraction and expounded on various magical toys and games, most of which Harry had a passing familiarity with from helping Andromeda raise Teddie and spending time with the various Weasleys with children. He also mentioned the names of his cousins and brother, all of whom Harry knew, but asked about anyway, since it would have been expected. 

The conversation got them through breakfast and down to Madam Malkin's. There, they were both dragged into the back, Madam Malkin insisting that Harry wasn't the only one who looked like he needed new clothing. (Which, in Harry's opinion, wasn't inaccurate, because Sirius' robes were hanging off him a little too loosely, thanks to his time in Azkaban.) 

Harry's Dudley cast-offs were a little too loose for Malkin's assistant, especially since Sirius had insisted on under things for Harry as well as robes, so she asked if he'd take his shirt off. Which, well, Harry was going to have to do anyway, since there was no way he was wandering around Diagon Alley in his muggle clothing, so he shrugged and did so. 

"That's an interesting ring," Sirius commented. Clearly, the Notice-Me-Not spell had worn off. It figured. 

Harry reached up and wrapped his fingers protectively around his ring, trying to figure out how to explain its existence. _'Ah...'_ He offered Sirius an uncertain smile. "I found it in the garden. Didn't want anyone to steal it from me, so I kept it with me." 

Sirius nodded in understanding. "It's certainly shiny." 

Harry snorted and glanced down at the polished golden band attached to the rough black stone. "Part of it, maybe," he agreed and Sirius laughed. 

Once they had robes to wear out – they'd have to come back for the rest of their order – Sirius asked, "May I see the ring? I promise I'm just curious." 

Harry pulled the ring out from under his robes and stared at it uncertainly for a long moment. It wasn't that he didn't trust that Sirius would give it back, but there was a part of him that didn't want to let it out of his grasp, already too used to the familiar weight of it against his chest. Finally, he made himself tug the twine over his head and hold it up for Sirius to see. 

"Not the prettiest thing, is it?" Sirius joked as he held it back down, and Harry took it gratefully. "I can resize the band, if you want to actually wear it." 

Harry shook his head, since the reason he kept it on the twine was so he could keep it with him when he transformed. "No. I'm used to it, now." He tucked it back under his robes and lightly touched the hint of a bump against his sternum. "But thank you." 

Sirius ruffled his hair, a fond smile lighting his face. "Sure thing, pup. For now, let's go spend money on useless stuff." 

-0-

Three hours later, Harry had new clothing, a child's broom, a rather nice trunk, a number of new games he could play with Sirius or any other magical children, and a few knick-knacks that had caught his eye when they went snooping through the junk shop across from Ollivander's. Better yet, he'd had more fun than he could remember ever having in either life. 

They got lunch to go at the Leaky, then flooed back to Grimmauld Place. 

"Do you want help taking that upstairs?" Sirius asked jokingly of the trunk full of Harry's new things. It had a feather-light charm on in, but the fact that it had multiple compartments meant it couldn't be shrunken, so it was a little awkward for Harry to cart around. 

Harry considered that for a moment before shaking his head and asking, "Kreacher?" 

The house-elf peered his head out of the little room he had in the kitchen. "Yes, Young Master Harry?" he replied, eyes darting uncertainly towards Sirius. 

Harry smiled at him. "Could you put my trunk at the end of my bed for me, please?" 

Kreacher's eyes lit up and he immediately snapped his fingers to vanish the trunk. "It is there," he promised. 

"You might want to go che–" Sirius started. 

"Shut up," Harry snapped, shooting his godfather a disapproving glare before looking back towards Kreacher with a helpless shrug. "Thank you." 

"Young Master Harry is welcome," Kreacher announced before returning to his room. 

Harry settled at the table and gave Sirius' disgruntled expression a tired look. "I get that you have a history, but I do actually like Kreacher, Sirius." 

Sirius huffed. "I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to chastise you for telling me to shut up." 

Harry rolled his eyes. "I make no promises about respecting people in positions of authority when they're acting childish." He pointed a finger at his godfather. "Being generally awesome the rest of the time does not exempt you from that." 

Sirius considered him for a long moment before setting a plate with food in front of Harry. "You are the oddest five year old I've ever met." 

"Not five yet," Harry pointed out, even as he allowed himself a mental wince; he _really_ needed to tone it down. 

"Doesn't make you any less weird, pup." 

Harry shrugged and pushed at his food with his fork. "So, since we keep eating out, should I assume you can't cook?" 

Sirius grimaced. "Ah, no. Not really." When Harry pointed his fork at himself, mouth full, Sirius immediately shook his head. "No. You are not cooking any meals. I don't care how good you are at it, if you need a footstool in the kitchen, you're not cooking." 

Harry nodded thoughtfully while he swallowed, then pointed out, "Then you're going to need to start trusting Kreacher not to poison us so he can make food." 

"Or we can keep eating pub food," Sirius insisted. 

Harry rolled his eyes. "You are such a bachelor, dear Merlin." He waved his fork at Sirius. "Nothing against Leaky's offerings, but I have no interest in flooing out for every meal. Either you let me cook, or you learn to trust Kreacher with food." He paused while Sirius scowled. "Or you can learn how to cook yourself." 

"You're a right little tyrant, aren't you?" Sirius complained, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes that promised he wasn't angry. 

Harry held up one hand and held his pointer finger and thumb close together. 

Sirius let out a sharp laugh and ate another bite, then sighed and turned towards Kreacher's room, where they could see the house-elf peeking out at them. "You might as well join us, Kreacher," Sirius commented, a note of hostility in his voice, though it was clear he was trying to be polite. 

"Kreacher has already eaten," Kreacher announced, but he did shuffle over to the table and climb up into one of the chairs at the far end. "Master wishes to talk to Kreacher?" 

Sirius glanced towards Harry, who raised an eyebrow at him, then sighed again. "Yeah. Kreacher, can you manage dinner and breakfast for a couple days?" 

Kreacher stared at Sirius. "Kreacher can," he agreed. "And after, Master?" He was clearly thinking the same thing Harry was: It was going to take more than a couple days for Sirius to master cooking. 

Sirius stabbed at his food. "I'm looking for somewhere else to live," he announced before glancing up towards the ceiling. "I'm not staying in this house any longer than I have to." 

Kreacher twisted his hands in front of him. "Master will be leaving Kreacher here?" he asked, and his voice shook. 

Harry's stomach felt too heavy and he set his fork down. He didn't want to leave Kreacher alone in this house with only Walburga for company, but he knew Sirius would never stay here. 

Sirius glanced between Harry and Kreacher for a moment before rubbing at his face. "I don't know. Call this a trial run; if we can get along for the next couple days, I'll consider bringing you with. If not, I'll sell you to someone else." 

That was...remarkably kind of Sirius, actually. But, then again, Harry supposed Sirius felt the same way as Harry did about leaving anyone alone in Grimmauld Place. 

Kreacher bowed his head. "Kreacher understands," he mumbled before jumping down and starting back towards his room. 

"Oh, and Kreacher?" Sirius called after him. 

"Master?" 

Sirius glanced towards Harry, then back at Kreacher. "Harry's birthday is Wednesday. I was thinking something a bit half-and-half." 

Kreacher replied with a toothy smile that said he knew exactly what Sirius meant, even if Harry had no idea what was going on. "Best left to Kreacher," the house-elf agreed before snapping his fingers and vanishing. 

Harry raised his eyebrow at his godfather, who had put on a vaguely disgruntled look in response to Kreacher's parting comment. "Do I want to know?" 

"You'll find out in two days," Sirius promised. 

Harry sighed and resigned himself to the mystery. 

-0-

After lunch turned into time to try out Harry's new toys, which ended up involving a great deal more Sirius-plays-with-Harry's-toys-while-Harry-laughs-at-him than it involved Harry playing around himself, but they both had fun in their own ways. 

Kreacher made dinner and Sirius only grumbled about poison twice, which Harry considered an improvement. (From his expression, Kreacher seemed to think it was a miracle.) 

"I'm going to spend tomorrow morning at the Ministry, looking into magical houses that are for sale," Sirius mentioned as Kreacher washed the dishes. "You're welcome to come along with, or stay here and play or whatever. If you stay here, you'll have to stay in the house, but I expect you'll have more fun here, anyway." 

Harry shrugged. "When are you going to visit the house?" Because he was interested in going along for that part, but Sirius was right to assume Harry had no interest in sitting around the Ministry for a couple hours while Sirius looked through house options, not being Harry Potter, not after Lucius had very likely let it get around how bad his upbringing had been previously. 

Sirius tapped a finger against the table top. "After lunch, probably. There shouldn't be too many options, so I don't expect it'll take all day. Did you want to come with for that?" 

Harry nodded. "Please." 

Sirius grinned. "All right. I'll come pick you up for lunch, then, and we can head out to look at our options after that." He stood. "For now, more playing?" 

Harry snorted and stood himself. "Yeah, let's go." 

-0-

Harry got up to eat breakfast with Sirius and see him off, then wandered up to the second floor and the library there. The door was locked, but a wandless unlocking charm fixed that problem and Harry stepped inside. 

He knew what most of the books were from when he owned the house, but a quick glance around suggested that a number of books had been removed before Harry moved in, either by the Order or those Blacks who had access between Walburga's death and Sirius' escape from Azkaban. "Bloody hell," he breathed, staring at a bookcase that had been nearly empty in Harry's memories. 

The first two books Harry opened screamed at him, and he snarled at the third one he pulled down pre-emptively, teeth bared. 

"They are not meant to be opened by children," Kreacher called from the doorway, clearly having come to discover the source of the screaming. "They are Dark books, dangerous for those who do not know." 

"Well, that's obnoxious," Harry complained as he put the book back. He gave it an extra little flick with his fingers, a sign of his irritation, then looked towards Kreacher. "I'm sure they'll make me cry at their simplicity, but where are the books I _can_ read?" 

Kreacher looked uncertain for a moment, then shrugged and led the way to the other side of the room. Harry recognised most of the books there from his memories and he resisted the urge to sigh. "These ones have not been spelled against any age," Kreacher reported before glancing up at Harry like he wanted to say something, but was afraid it would be taken the wrong way. 

Harry raised an eyebrow at the house-elf, even as he pulled down the first book he spotted that didn't look familiar. "Go ahead, Kreacher." 

"Young Master Harry may not be able to understand many of these books. They are not being meant for children." 

Harry snorted. "I am very much not your average child." 

"Kreacher had noticed," the house-elf retorted before vanishing. 

Harry chuckled to himself and picked out a couple other books, then left for his room, shooting an absent locking charm at the library door as he pulled it shut behind him, so Sirius didn't think he'd been snooping about in there. 

If there was one thing he could be grateful about when it came to the antagonism between Sirius and Kreacher, it was that the house-elf wouldn't be reporting his movements to his godfather, no matter how odd he acted. 

-0-

Sirius came back with a list of three houses to look at, so they did that after lunch. The first was in Godric's Hollow, which ended in a stop by James and Lily's graves, a heart-rending experience all around. (Harry spent most of it holding tight to Sirius to keep himself from reaching for the Resurrection Stone, torn between the fear that it would work and they would be ashamed of him, and the fear that the horcrux wouldn't let them appear.) 

The second house was in some little partially-magical village south-west of Chester, which neither of them were particularly impressed with, but both agreed it was probably a better choice than the one in Godric's Hollow, given the history of the latter. 

The third house was outside Ottery St Catchpole, closer to the Diggorys than to the Weasleys or Lovegoods, but easily close enough that Harry could walk over to the Weasleys' within fifteen minutes. It was Harry's favourite of their options, both due to the location and because of the house itself, which was plenty big enough for a couple of guests and had a reasonable space for both Kreacher and a second house-elf, if Sirius wanted to get one. There was a small one-vehicle garage which Sirius seemed attached to, and Harry eventually remembered his motorcycle, which there wasn't space for at Grimmauld Place. 

"So," Sirius said when they got back to Grimmauld Place, "last one?" 

Harry immediately nodded. "Yeah." 

"Brilliant. I'll go in on Thursday and finalise everything then." 

Harry blinked. "Not tomorrow?" 

Sirius snorted. "We're not moving on your birthday, pup." 

"Oh." Harry shrugged and turned his attention to the food Kreacher had snapped in front of him. "Thanks, Kreacher!" 

Kreacher's fingers snapped again and Harry's mashed potatoes developed a smile, which made Harry laugh and Sirius snort in amusement. 

-0-

Harry's birthday was a surprisingly calm day, considering who was involved. He didn't bother sleeping in, knowing it would never work, and Sirius looked a little disappointed to see him up when he walked into the kitchen. 

They spent the day out back in the overgrown garden. Sirius had intended to teach Harry how to fly, but upon realising he was a bloody natural, they moved on to tossing a quaffle back and forth for a while. Harry asked a couple of questions about the magical plants he saw and Sirius complained about having to brush off his rusty Herbology knowledge, but was otherwise perfectly happy to tell Harry, even going so far as to mention the most common potions each one was used in. (Harry suspected they'd all been planted to use in potions, though he didn't mention so.) 

Lunch included a rather large cake, which was half vanilla, half chocolate, explaining the 'half-and-half' comment from Monday. Harry, who had an unapologetic appreciation for all things sweet, declared both halves his favourite – much to Sirius' amusement and Kreacher's pleasure – and spent an hour curled up on the couch in the drawing room after he ate way too much cake. (It would have been longer, but Kreacher finally took pity on him and went out to buy a potion; Sirius, for his part, thought the whole thing was hysterical, and totally deserved the bucket of ice water Kreacher dumped on his head, so far as Harry was concerned.) 

Dinner was had out at a nice muggle restaurant. Once they were seated, Sirius explained, "This was the restaurant James proposed to Lily at," and Harry's eyes went wide, hungry for these little facts that no one had survived the war long enough to feed him, in that other reality. 

Sirius turned and pointed to a table on the far side of the dining room, right next to a large window looking out over the street. "They sat over there," he explained, "and Remus and Peter and I sat at this table, providing moral support." 

Harry, who knew well what sort of 'moral support' the Marauders were known for, snorted disbelievingly. 

Sirius grinned. "Yeah, that was pretty much Lily's reaction when she found out we'd been there." 

"So you mean you _didn't_ cause a scene?" Harry joked. 

Sirius shook his head and waited until after he'd given their orders to the waitress before admitting, "Remus brought some magical glue and applied it to our chairs before we sat down. He gave the solvent to James before we parted ways, so we had to wait for him to finish before we could get up." 

Harry hid a laugh in his water glass, eyes bright. 

Sirius waited until their food had come before explaining, "James'd wanted to make a big to-do about it, but he'd had to tone everything down when Lily insisted on a muggle place for their date; Remus suspected she'd known what was coming and wanted to enact a bit of pre-emptive damage control." 

"Good choice," Harry announced, and Sirius chuckled. 

"She was a scarily brilliant woman, your mum," he agreed fondly. "Best thing that could have happened to James, in the end." His expression drooped slightly before he forced his grin back into place. 

"I wish I'd known them," Harry whispered. 

Sirius reached across the table and squeezed Harry's hand. "I wish you could have known them too, pup." His smile eased, a little sadder than before, but very much real. "They'd love you." 

Harry swallowed and looked down into his dinner to hide his tears. He couldn't help but reach one hand up to touch the lump of the Resurrection Stone under his shirt, and he had to force himself not to turn the Stone. "How'd he do it?" he managed after a moment, voice a little wobbly. "Propose, I mean." 

"Well, he must have got in with the staff beforehand," Sirius said without missing a beat, "because it was set in her ice cream, right under the cherry. It'd sunk into the whipped cream a bit, but the ring he'd got her had this ridiculously large diamond, so she saw the sparkle. Soon as he realised she'd seen it, he got down on his knees and asked all proper-like. She said yes, of course, but only _after_ she'd taken her time about licking off the whipped cream." 

Harry laughed at that, thinking, _'Yeah, they were well matched, Mum and Dad.'_

"The whole place went up in cheers," Sirius added, smiling in memory. "The staff brought out champagne for everyone who wanted it, which James paid for. Bit of an unsteady crowd that left." 

"I'll bet," Harry agreed, amused. "And then Dad came over to free you lot?" 

Sirius snorted. "Yeah. S'how Lily found out we were there. She congratulated Remus on his forethought. They got on really well, Lily and Remus." 

"He's still around, right?" Harry asked. He'd been trying to find a good way to bring the last Marauder up for the past couple of days. 

"Should be," Sirius agreed with an easy shrug. "I'll see about sending him an owl on Friday, see if he'd like to stop by for a visit." 

"Not tomorrow?" Harry asked innocently. 

"Nah. We're moving tomorrow," Sirius replied, shaking his head. "He can wait a day." 

Harry accepted that with a nod, though he knew the real reason for the delay was that Remus would likely be spending Thursday recovering from that night's moon; not for the first time, Harry was super glad that his curse was twisted. 

Sirius didn't bother ordering pudding, their waitress just brought two ice creams with whipped cream and a cherry on top out with a wide grin. Harry laughed, knowing, now, why Sirius had ordered that particular pudding. 

And then he found the diamond ring sinking into the whipped cream. "Oh," he whispered, tears springing to his eyes. It had been sized to fit his small fingers, so he could wear it around. 

"I found it in your family vault," Sirius admitted with a sad smile. "Happy birthday, Harry." 

Harry slid out of his chair and ran around the table to hug his godfather, the ring clenched tight in one fist. 

It was, without question, the best birthday he'd ever had. 

-0-

That night, Harry sat on his bed, staring out at the risen moon. He could feel her pull, and though he felt no need to answer it, he'd already locked his room door and managed a basic warning spell to let him know if Sirius came to wake him, in preparation of sleeping in his wolf form for the night. 

Still, he wasn't quite ready to change, fingers tangled in the two rings he wore around his neck. Finally, he used the Resurrection Stone, turning the ring over in his hand three times. 

"Hello, Harry." 

They stood before him, not quite there, colours muted by the moonlight bathing the room. Lily was smiling, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear; the same ring that Harry held with the Peverell ring glinted on her finger, next to a smooth gold band. James, too, was smiling, the moonlight glinting off his crooked glasses and half hiding his eyes behind the reflection. 

"Mum," Harry whispered, voice catching in his throat, "Dad." 

Lily knelt in front of the bed, her eyes worried. "What is it, sweetheart?" 

The endearment caught in Harry's throat and his eyes watered. He thought of the curse that set him apart, of the lives he was going to have to destroy just so the non-humans could have a chance. "How can you call me that?" he breathed. "I'm not– You shouldn't–"

"You are my son," Lily insisted, unbending, "and I love you. I will _always_ love you, Harry." 

"Even when I tear down the Ministry with my bare hands?" Harry asked. 

"The Ministry is corrupt," James said, shaking his head. "It's long since time that someone gave them a hard kick in the arse." He sighed, then, and tilted his head so Harry could see the sadness behind the moon's reflection on his glasses. "You don't always get to choose your fate, Harry, and while we might not approve of how you intend to go about it, that won't make us love you any less. Just as hearing that you would have to be a murderer to get rid of Voldemort didn't make us hate you." 

"We want you safe and happy, more than we want you to keep your hands clean," Lily added before holding up her own hands. "No one gets through a war without blood on their hands." 

"Only fools and murderers start wars," Harry murmured. "Which am I?" 

"You are a werewolf," James said, staring him down. "That's a different creature entirely." 

Harry managed a wry smile. "Not inaccurate," he admitted, because he could feel that animal raging against the back of his mind every day, looking to tear down anything and everything that ever did him harm. 

"We love you," James insisted, eyes firm, unbending. "We always have, and we always will. We may not wholly _approve_ , but there is nothing in this world that you can do that will make us hate you. Right?" 

Harry swallowed and nodded. "Right." 

Lily brushed her hand against the back of Harry's, a brief touch of Death's chill. "When you see my sister again, remind her of the last time she and I had tea." 

"Why?" 

"Because I told her what I'd do to her if she ever had occasion to mistreat any magical children." Lily's smile was bloodthirsty, and Harry offered her one of his own back. 

"Was it good?" he wanted to know. 

Lily stood back up while James laughed, the sound mean as every time he did something horrible to Snape in school. "Let's just say," Lily told him, "that I wasn't entirely certain I knew spells to pull it off." 

"You could just bite her." 

"James! Don't you dare start telling your son to turn his aunt! It would be cruel to expect him to put up with her." 

Harry laughed, loving the life in them, their honest acceptance of the weight on his shoulders. It made him breathe a little easier, and he let go of the Resurrection Stone with a lighter heart than when he'd first turned it over. 

He quickly shucked off his trousers and stepped into the middle of his room. He clenched his jaw as tightly as he could, then let the change wash over him, whimpering in the back of his throat as the familiar agony rushed through him. When it was done, he crawled into his bed and burrowed under his heavy covers. He sent one last glance towards the moon glowing outside his widow, then turned his back on it and closed his eyes to sleep. 

-0-

"Kreacher's coming with us, right?" Harry asked at breakfast the next morning. 

Sirius blinked at him, clearly still half asleep, and mumbled, "Your attachment to that house-elf is actually sort of disturbing, pup." 

Harry rolled his eyes and glanced over his shoulder at where Kreacher was cleaning some dishes and pretending he wasn't listening. "Your point being?" Harry asked of his godfather as he glanced back at the man. 

Sirius snorted. "No point, just saying." 

Harry huffed. "Look, he's been awesome the past couple days, even you have to admit that much. If you _really_ can't bring yourself to play nice with him, the house has room for a second house-elf, so I can hang out with Kreacher while you get someone else to wait on you." 

Sirius perked up. "Oh, hey, yeah, that's true. Didn't even think about getting a second elf. Kreacher can go off and play babysitter with you while I relax in luxury." 

Harry snorted and got up to bring his dirty breakfast dishes to Kreacher. "Because _I'm_ the one in need of a babysitter," he whispered to the house-elf and got a grin in response. To Sirius he announced, "I gonna go pack my things away, then." 

"Let me know if you need any help," Sirius called after him as Harry started towards the stairs, and Harry waved an acknowledgement over his shoulder. 

Harry didn't need any help, and Sirius was still working on packing his own things when he was done, so Harry rejoined Kreacher in the kitchen and offered, "Do you need any help?" 

Kreacher shook his head from where he was directing those dishes Sirius hadn't made faces at into a box with expanded space inside. "Kreacher can do better on his own." He turned a quick smile on Harry to show he meant no disrespect by the comment. "Though," he added when Harry shrugged, unbothered, "Young Master Harry is very capable for his age." 

"I'd be more capable if I wasn't limited by wandless magic," Harry admitted. 

"Young Master Harry should have been born a house-elf." 

Harry smiled sadly. "The outcome would have been about the same, in the end," he agreed quietly before glancing towards the stairs up to the ground floor, noticing the subtle strengthening of Sirius' scent, as though the man was attempting to sneak down the stairs. "Do you know what Sirius intends to do with this house?" 

Kreacher shook his head. "Kreacher does not know Master's mind." 

Harry nodded. "I half expect him to put it on the market, though he'll have to do something about those permanent sticking charms." He tapped his chin. "I'll have to ask him. I admit, there's a part of me that would like to see this turned into some sort of non-human sanctuary, and I'm sure Sirius would approve of letting werewolves live here just to spite Walburga's memory." 

Sirius let out a sound that was half laugh, half cough and stepped into the kitchen. Kreacher looked vaguely surprised, but Harry just smiled. "There would be a certain poetic justice in letting werewolves spend the full moon in this place, wouldn't there?" he agreed cheerfully. 

Harry shrugged. "I was thinking more of a full-time thing. You could let bedrooms out to werewolves who are having trouble meeting rent elsewhere because they can't keep a job, either charging them a pittance or doing it for free. Furnish the place with strong furniture and layer strengthening charms over all the walls and doors and they can have free range of the place during the full moon." 

Sirius blinked, clearly surprised. "You've put thought into this," he said. 

Harry huffed. "It's pretty obvious you hate this place, Sirius. I discovered werewolves exist, and I knew your mum would hate them taking over her house, so I figured that might be a good use for the place, especially since you keep complaining about not being able to get her picture out of the front hall, so I don't expect you can sell it." 

Sirius nodded, gaze thoughtful. "Well, you're right about me not wanting the place, and about Mum's portrait making it difficult to sell off. And I _do_ like the idea about populating the place with werewolves. Not sure how to manage cleaning, though..." 

"Wall off the kitchen," Harry suggested; it was something he'd considered doing himself, after Kreacher's death, but he didn't want to deal with rerouting the floo, and he still enjoyed cooking sometimes. "You've got a dining room, might as well put it to use, and the floo could be rerouted to the drawing room, I assume?" Sirius nodded, eyeing Harry like he was trying to sort a puzzle. Harry almost shut up there, but this was too important to him, too much a part of who and what he was. "Hire a couple house-elves and give them the kitchen. Tell them to stay in here for the whole night on the full moon and then spend the morning cleaning up stuff, after everyone's human again. So long as the wolves can't get into the kitchen and the house-elves don't leave it, they won't get hurt." 

Sirius watched him for a long moment in silence, thoughts moving lightning-quick behind grey eyes, before he gave a jerky nod. "Well, we've got time to think about it, and another house to set up first. Is your trunk packed?" 

Harry resisted the urge to sigh. "Yeah. Are we flooing over?" 

"Floo isn't set up yet. You get to enjoy apparation today." Harry made a face and Sirius laughed before turning to Kreacher. "Follow after us in a moment so you can look around," he ordered. 

"Yes, Master," Kreacher murmured, ducking his head. 

Harry let Sirius apparate him to the front stoop of the new house and stood back to let his godfather sort out the ring of keys – magically bonded to the house, so you couldn't just use an unlocking charm and walk right in – and let them inside. 

"Did you want me to open everything up?" Harry suggested drily when Sirius dropped the key ring immediately after getting the door open, after having nearly done so multiple times while trying to find the key he'd needed. "You and Kreacher can manage moving things over here." 

Sirius snorted and dropped the key ring into Harry's outstretched palm. "There should be two of each key. If you can figure out how to get them off the ring the muggle way, go ahead and take your set now. Otherwise, we'll sort it out over dinner." 

Harry shrugged and twirled the ring on a finger, keys jingling quietly as they shifted with each rotation. "Okay." 

Sirius shook his head and stepped back out onto the stoop to apparate back to Grimmauld Place. 

Harry spent the next few minutes unlocking various doors inside and outside the house and removing keys from the ring. (He didn't even have to cheat and use wandless magic to get them off, which he was pretty sure deserved a medal.) By the time he finished, Sirius had brought Harry's things over from the bedroom in Grimmauld Place and put everything in the room Harry'd preferred of the options offered, so he set about unpacking and shoving ineffectually at his heavy furniture to try and get them into the positions he wanted everything in. 

It was about lunch time when someone knocked at the door. Since Harry wasn't certain where Sirius was, he hurried downstairs and opened the door himself to find Molly Weasley leading Bill and Charlie. 

Bill's eyes went wide, but Molly offered Harry an adoring smile and asked, "Are your parents home, sweetheart?" 

Harry shrugged, then glanced to one side and said, "Kreacher?" 

The house-elf appeared immediately, looking slightly harried. 

Harry covered a smile. "Where is he?" 

Kreacher scowled. "Master is catching frogs," he reported irritably. 

Harry couldn't stop a giggle. "Oh Merlin. Tell him we have guests, please?" As Kreacher popped away, Harry turned back to the Weasleys with an apologetic smile. "Sorry. My godfather will be right here." 

Sirius was only a moment longer, mud staining the hem of his robes and following him as footprints. "I'm pretty sure you're too young to be answering the door," he informed Harry, one eyebrow raised. 

"I'm pretty sure you're too old to be hunting frogs to leave in my bed," Harry retorted with a roll of his eyes. Sirius grinned, unrepentant. "You're trailing mud. If Kreacher kills you in your sleep, I'm letting him speak at your funeral." 

"Not even vaguely funny," Sirius informed him as he shot a sloppy cleaning charm over his shoulder. Then he flashed a winning smile at the Weasleys, holding out a hand for Molly. "I'm Sirius Black, and this is my godson, Harry." 

"Harry _Potter_?" Charlie breathed. 

Harry resisted the urge to groan. Barely. 

Molly reached back and lightly smacked Charlie's shoulder before taking Sirius' hand, juggling a basket hung over one arm in the process. "I'm Molly Weasley and these are my eldest two, Bill and Charlie. We heard there was a new neighbour and I thought I'd bring you something for lunch, since I wasn't sure you'd have the chance to make something yourself." 

"Harry appreciates it," Sirius promised, "but he seems to have an abhorrence for pub food." 

Harry rolled his eyes but didn't bother trying to correct his godfather, because it wasn't an abhorrence for anything, but a preference for homemade meals that had him turning his nose up at a steady diet of pub food. 

"Please, won't you come in," Sirius offered, stepping back and holding the door open further. "I'm afraid we're still moving furniture over, but I'm pretty sure Kreacher has brought the dining room table, at least." 

"We wouldn't want to intrude," Molly insisted, though it was clear – to Harry, at least – that she very much wanted to visit with them for a bit. She'd never been a gossip of Petunia's level, but she did like knowing what was going on in the neighbourhood. Which, really, when you had seven children running around, wasn't a bad plan. 

"It's no intrusion," Sirius promised, motioning for them to enter. 

The adults took the lead towards the kitchen, leaving Harry with the older boys. Charlie immediately said, "So, you're Harry Potter, huh?" 

"So they tell me!" Harry replied cheerfully. 

A hand ruffled his hair and he shot an amused look at Bill. "How's it going then, Growly?" he teased. 

Harry flashed him a bright grin. " _Awesome_. Sirius is my absolute favourite godparent." 

Bill snorted. "Do you even _have_ a godmum?" 

"Nope!" 

Bill and Charlie both let out loud laughs. 

"Where're the rest of your siblings?" Harry asked as they all sat down around the table, the three boys a bit removed from the two adults. Dishes appeared before everyone and Harry glanced towards Kreacher's room. "Thanks, Kreacher," he called as Molly dished out the sandwiches and crisps. Not that he expected a response, it was just polite. 

"Mum didn't want to overwhelm you, and she didn't know who all had moved in, so she brought me and Charlie," Bill explained. "Dad's in from work to keep an eye on everyone else." 

"Mum'd probably have brought Ron and Ginny if she knew you were here," Charlie commented. "Same age and all." 

Harry made a face. "Nothing against your siblings or anything, but Ron and Ginny'd probably drive me mad within five minutes." 

"Yeah, you're a bit too old for them," Bill agreed drily, though amusement glinted in his eyes. 

"Young in body, old in soul," Harry agreed and Charlie laughed a bit disbelievingly. Harry just shrugged, unbothered, and started in on his sandwich. 

They were all quiet for a moment, then Bill set about telling Harry about his siblings and the three other magical families with kids in the area. Harry already knew about all the Weasleys, of course, and Luna. And he had a passing knowledge of Cedric. The last family, the Fawcetts, had one daughter who was a year older than Harry and a son who was Ginny's age, neither of whom Harry had any memories of. (He assumed they'd both been in either Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, since he knew all of the Gryffindors in those years and most of the Slytherins.) 

It wasn't a bad lunch, all things considered. When the Weasleys left, Bill giving another fond tousle to Harry's hair, Sirius warned him that he would be taking part in many, _many_ playdates with the large family. Harry resisted the urge to groan; as much as he'd enjoy spending time with those he'd called his family in another reality, he wasn't much looking forward to dealing with a super young Ron. Maybe he'd fall in with Fred and George until Ron outgrew his childishness? (It should only take a war.) 

"I get the sense that you're not excited about spending time with kids your age," Sirius commented before Harry could escape to his room. 

Harry pointed at himself. "Have you met me? Do I act like I'll have fun hanging around with other five year olds?" 

Sirius rolled his eyes. "You'll survive," he promised. "Anyway, they're not _all_ five." 

Harry nodded. "This is true. One of them is four." 

"You are such a drama queen," Sirius informed him and Harry snorted, amused. "I'm going to head in to the Ministry to get the floo connected and buy a second house-elf. Can I trust you to not do anything that will result in a run to St Mungo's?" 

"I make no promises," Harry replied with a flash of a smile that spelled trouble. 

Sirius laughed and ruffled his hair as he walked past him on the way to the front door. 

Harry grinned to himself and returned to his bedroom.

.


	5. Four – Drop the Shades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am, maybe-possibly-just-a-little-bit, laughing at everyone who asked if Sirius' new house-elf was going to be Dobby or Winky. I feel I must remind everyone that this is six years before the start of the books; Dobby is still a 'normal' member of the Malfoy household, and Winky is happy with Crouch. Nothing that happened in canon is even _vaguely_ relevant right now.
> 
> In other news, enter Remus! :D (Also, a bit more Bill.)

Sirius' new house-elf was named Pinky, and she was a meek little thing who, so far as Harry could tell, Kreacher hated in sight. He didn't care enough to ask about that, just treated them both with equal levels of fondness and respect, the latter seemingly throwing Pinky for a loop. 

Kreacher did seem to appreciate being largely in Harry's service, especially since Harry set him to cleaning up Grimmauld Place, rather than dragging him along on any playdates, as Sirius had intended. Sirius seemed resigned to it, to the point that he told Harry that cleaning the house up was his and Kreacher's duty, and to let him know when they needed him to come in and perform the strengthening charms and any other magic that Kreacher couldn't manage. 

It took almost a week before Remus showed up, in the end. In that time, Harry got dragged out to two playdates at the Burrow. He was vaguely surprised to discover that Ron wasn't quite the ball of jealousy that Harry recalled him being at eleven, though, in retrospect, that was likely due to the fact that none of his brothers were yet old enough to have accomplished the list of things Ron had listed off. (Save for the twins who, to hear Bill tell it, proved themselves able troublemakers within an hour of their birth by bringing the midwife who delivered every Weasley child to suggest an exorcism would not go amiss.) 

The twins made a joke, the first time they heard Bill call Harry 'Growly' in front of them, that they thought 'Hairy' would have been a far better choice, if they were going with animal names, which had Harry growling at them in irritation. Thus he was dubbed 'Growly' by three of the Weasleys, with everyone else simply using 'Harry'. 

Ron and Ginny were a little too young for Harry's patience, and there were times he wanted to curse the twins for being obnoxious, but he got on surprisingly well with Percy, on the rare occasion that the elder came out of his room. Charlie didn't seem to know what to think of him, which made for some strained interactions, but Bill made no secret of his fondness for Harry, nor did he ever try dumbing himself down when he was speaking with Harry, which he appreciated more than he could properly explain. 

Bill and Harry had just arrived at the Burrow for Harry's third playdate over – Bill always came to pick him up because Harry was too young to floo alone, which had the benefit of giving Harry the chance to warn him that Sirius didn't know he was a werewolf, which had Bill shaking his head at Harry's reticence – when Pinky appeared at Harry's side, fingers twisted nervously in her tea towel. Harry immediately dropped to his knees in front of her, having discovered it best to treat her like a terrified child, and gently requested, "What is it, Pinky?" 

Pinky gave him a wide-eyed stare. "Master sends Pinky to Young Master to return for guest." 

"A guest?" Harry repeated, vaguely aware of Bill waving Fred and George back when they started over; the last thing any of them needed was for the twins to terrorise Pinky. 

Pinky gave a jerky nod. "Master says is Misters Moon." 

"Moony," Harry corrected. "Okay. Thank you, Pinky. Let Sirius know I'm on my way back, please." 

Pinky vanished. 

Harry stood and glanced over at where Molly was approaching, frowning. "Sorry, Mrs Weasley," he offered. "Sirius' best friend just showed up and he wants me to come back so I can meet him." 

"That's fine," Molly insisted with a fond smile. "Bill, will you take Harry home?" 

"Sure thing, Mum. Come on, Growly." 

The trip back was filled with Harry telling Bill about all the things he'd heard about Remus, since he was honestly excited to finally meet the last Marauder. Bill apparently found the whole thing hysterical, for he kept letting loose a handful of helpless giggles and made a point to put his hand to Harry's forehead a couple times, as though checking his temperature. 

Remus and Sirius were in the living room when Harry got in, Bill following because he wanted to 'meet this man who makes you act your age, for once'. The adults were standing in the middle of the room, Sirius frowning and Remus stiff. Remus was staring at Harry, expression shifting towards horror, and Harry realised, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, that the was one thing he hadn't really anticipated about this meeting: Remus could tell he was a werewolf. 

He stopped in the doorway, uncertain, and insisted, "It's not what you think." 

Sirius' head shot around and he frowned uncertainly at Harry. "What's not–"

"You're a werewolf," Remus whispered, and he sounded so very broken. 

"Of course he's no–" Sirius started. 

"I am," Harry agreed quietly, and Bill rested a gentle hand on his shoulder, a silent promise of support. 

Sirius snorted. "Right. Pup, I was with you all day on the last full moon; there's no way you're a werewolf." 

Harry took a deep breath, then tugged his shirt off, rings chiming on the chain around his neck as they were disturbed, and forced himself to change, teeth grit against the wash of agony. 

" _Alpha Lord_ ," Remus breathed in awe while Harry irritatedly tried to escape his trousers. 

Bill leant down and helped him out. Harry thanked him by licking his chin, making the teen scowl, and turned towards Sirius and Remus. 

Sirius looked completely thrown. "What– But– How–?"

Remus knelt and held out a hand to Harry. When Harry trotted over to him, Remus immediately started scratching behind his ears and Harry couldn't help but let out a happy 'woof'. "Do you still know who you are?" Remus asked. 

Harry ducked the scratching hand so he could nod, then glanced up towards Sirius. 

Sirius swallowed and said, "Change back so we can talk." Then he looked towards Bill and narrowed his eyes. "You're taking this calmly." 

"I found out a couple weeks ago," Bill admitted as Harry let himself change back. 

Warm arms wrapped around Harry as he regained human form and he gratefully rested against Remus' chest for a moment while he caught his breath. "Sirius," Remus called, a note of steel in his voice, "a pain potion." 

"I'm fine," Harry insisted, trying to pull away. 

Remus tightened his arms enough to make it clear that he wasn't going to let Harry go. "You can't lie to me, pup. Not about this." 

Harry sighed and relaxed back into Remus' hold, knowing when he was beat. He took the potion Pinky brought without complaint, but when Remus wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and made like he was going to pick him up, Harry pulled away with a snarl. "I am not going to be coddled like a child after his first moon," he snapped at the elder werewolf. 

Remus immediately raised his chin to bare his throat. "Sorry, Alpha." 

Harry huffed and wrapped the blanket around himself, deciding he didn't care about getting dressed right that moment. "You don't need to call me that, Remus. In fact, I'd rather you didn't, if it's all the same," he added as he made his way over to the couch and curled up against one arm. 

Bill stopped next to Harry and dropped his trousers onto his head. "I need to get back home before Mum sends out search parties," he commented. 

"First, how the hell could you have known about this for a couple weeks?" Sirius demanded as he dropped heavily into his favourite chair. "You only met a week ago." 

Bill raised an eyebrow at Harry and he sighed. "He found me when I came to the Burrow hunting Peter." 

Sirius pointed a shaking finger at him. "How could you have _possibly_ known where Peter was?" 

Harry sighed again and tugged his blanket tighter around his shoulders. "I had a dream, one night, where I'd been turned into a wolf. There was a man there who I thought was my father, but he claimed to be me as an adult. He told me that if I wanted away from the Dursleys, I needed to go to the weirdly-shaped house outside Ottery St Catchpole and catch a rat who was really a man named Peter. When I woke up, I was a wolf and it took me a bit to figure out how to be human again, but once I was, I decided to hunt down Peter." 

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sirius asked as Bill left. (Harry knew him well enough to expect he'd sit through some questions from the future cursebreaker as soon as Bill could catch him alone.) 

Sirius was clearly hurt by this apparent slight, and Harry felt horrible even as he replied, "Oh, yes, I can just see how that conversation would go. 'By the way, Sirius, I hope you don't mind, but I'm actually a werewolf. No need to be concerned on the full moons, I always retain my human brain, so I'll never accidentally bite you. Please don't have them put me down or send me back to the Dursleys?' "

"I would _never_ do that!" Sirius roared, standing, his face a mask of Gryffindor fury. 

"And how would I know that?" Harry snapped, narrowing his eyes at his godfather. "It's not like I knew your best friend was a werewolf. For all _I_ knew, you were some sort of anti-non-human fanatic!" Which, not true, but it fit with the story he was using. Really, he'd just never worked up the courage to tell his godfather that he was a werewolf, too afraid that Sirius would take the news poorly; having a friend for a werewolf did not necessarily mean one wanted a dependent who was one, _especially_ following a stay in Azkaban. 

"Sirius," Remus murmured as the animagus turned to stalk away. "Remember how long it took me to tell you what I was? Can you imagine what it must be like for a child who depends on you?" 

Sirius held still for a long moment before turning to frown at Harry. "I didn't react poorly to you wanting to turn Grimmauld Place into a werewolf sanctuary, did I?" 

Remus turned to Harry with wide eyes. 

Harry pressed his mouth into a tight line and looked away. "It's not like you reacted favourably to the idea, beyond being pleased about letting werewolves into your mum's house. Letting me do something I have my heart set on isn't the same as supporting my endeavours, Sirius." 

Sirius flinched. 

Harry sighed and took a moment to tug his trousers on, then slid off the couch and started towards his shirt. "I'll be in my room, once you've stopped thinking my secretiveness was intended as an attack upon you," he announced before making for the stairs. 

He could hear the murmur of words behind him, Sirius and Remus speaking quietly enough that Harry would have to be actively trying, if he wanted to hear what they were saying. For his part, he curled up on his bed and absently turned the Stone over in his hands a few times, honestly startled when he felt the faint chill of the dead settle around him. He glanced up to find Lily sitting on the edge of his bed, her hand brushing over him like she was trying to rub his back. James stood at her shoulder, eyes kind. 

Harry clenched his eyes shut against tears. He wondered, sometimes, if the Stone was more of a curse or a blessing, giving him family to comfort him when he needed someone there who already knew everything and didn't hate him. 

Remus ended up being the one to come up, knocking lightly on the doorframe before stepping into the doorway. "Hey, pup," he offered as Harry sat up, his parents vanishing the moment he let go of the Stone. 

Harry sighed. "Where is he?" 

Remus winced. "I told him to go to Grimmauld Place and work off some steam by casting whatever spells you needed. Sirius...has never been good with learning people are keeping things from him." 

"You don't say," Harry deadpanned. 

Remus shook his head. "Your father told me, once, that Sirius about blew a gasket when they figured out I was a werewolf. Peter...reacted poorly from fear, but Sirius was angry because I wouldn't tell him, because I didn't trust them with my secret. I guess...he spent so long living with people who dealt in secrets, and he'd come to Gryffindor hoping that was over with." 

"Incidentally," Harry said, "bravery does not equal honesty; you'd think he'd have figured that out by now." 

Remus sighed. "I don't think he expected such a big secret from _you_."

Harry let out a laugh that was a little too shaky. "Yeah. How's he going to react to finding out I'm prophesied to bring an end to the rule of magical humans?" 

Remus closed his eyes, expression pained. 

Harry looked away. "Yeah, I know about that. I know I'm prophesied to destroy Voldemort, too. Fate seems to like making me her bitch." 

Remus settled tiredly on the bed next to Harry. "How much did that older you actually tell you?" 

Harry shrugged and curled around his knees before glancing up at the other werewolf. "He was turned in 2002, after he destroyed Voldemort. Some new Dark Lord in 2007 found a way to control werewolves and he was killed after being made to kill people on the full moon. He made a deal with Death to do his life over again, but do it _better_. Save the people he cared about." He touched the two rings resting against his chest. "You. Sirius. The Weasleys. All the werewolves he spent five years fighting for." 

"I take it he was never the Alpha Lord." 

Harry shook his head. "Death may have screwed with the curse a bit." He rolled his eyes. "But no, he never got to suffer that particular responsibility, though he certainly tried to fix things on his own." 

"So how did you find out about it? His sire–?"

Harry choked out a laugh. "No. No, if the concept of Alpha Lord even existed for him, he didn't know anything about it. After Bill caught Wormy and turned him in, I flooed to Bloody Eyetooth. A vampire there told me about the prophecy after I got outed by a couple werewolves in residence." 

Remus sighed. "What made you think flooing to Bloody Eyetooth was a good idea?" he complained. "I don't go there, and I'm an _adult_."

Harry flashed him a smile full of too-sharp teeth. "There are some pros to being able to change against the moon," he admitted when Remus' eyes widened. Then he shrugged. "Anyway, I have the knowledge of seven years at Hogwarts and the equivalent of five years in the field as an auror; even without a wand, I know more than enough spells to protect myself." 

Remus ruffled his hair with a helpless look. "Spell knowledge isn't always enough to protect you, pup." 

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Do you really think, knowing what I am, that I lack for allies down Knockturn?" 

"For my sanity, can you promise that, in future, you'll bring Sirius or myself if you go down there again?" Remus requested. 

Harry snorted. "Assuming Sirius is even willing." 

Remus smiled a bit nervously. "I don't know, Sirius. Are you willing?" 

Sirius stepped into the doorway, smelling like absolutely nothing, expression worryingly blank. 

Harry snarled and jumped away from Remus, furious about being tricked into spilling everything to his godfather. 

Remus immediately bared his throat, but Sirius lacked the instincts telling him 'angry Alpha, placate him with obedience', and he walked right up to Harry and wrapped him in a hug. "Knew you were an odd five-year-old," he whispered. 

Harry relaxed into the hug despite himself. "Can someone remove the spell?" he requested, voice strained. "You have no idea how disconcerting it is to not be able to smell you." 

Sirius snorted and pulled back to touch his wand to his chest. "Normal people don't _want_ to smell me," he pointed out. 

"Normal people don't trust their sense of smell to tell them how someone's feeling," Harry muttered and saw Remus' mouth kick up on one side. Then he pinned his godfather with a hard look. "Don't take this the wrong way, Sirius, but you have to understand that you're technically my enemy." 

Sirius sucked in a sharp breath while Remus winced. "Harry–" Remus started. 

"No," Harry snapped, shooting the other werewolf a sharp look before turning back to Sirius' frown. "This is a simple fact of me, of everything I am. I am destined to bring an end to the power of all magical humans, and that makes them all enemies, no matter my personal feelings in the matter." 

"And what _are_ your personal feelings in the matter?" Sirius returned, tone firm, but surprisingly non-confrontational. 

Harry swallowed and closed his eyes. "The other me...watching you– watching his Sirius die nearly ripped him apart," he admitted quietly. "And he...he wasn't alone when you met, had friends and something like a family in the Weasleys, but you...but he..." Harry took a deep breath and looked back up at Sirius, took in the cracks of his calm mask where there hid a young man who had lost his family as much as Harry had that fateful October night. "You gave me my first hug," Harry whispered. "I don't want to hurt you." 

_'I can't lose you again.'_

Sirius' arms wrapped around Harry, warm and safe, and the animagus whispered, "I love you too, pup." 

Harry grabbed fistfuls of Sirius' robe and stared out of wet eyes at where Remus was watching them, a reassuring smile twisting his lips and lighting his eyes. 

Remus didn't even look vaguely surprised when Sirius said, "How difficult would it be to find a vampire willing to turn me?" 

Harry pulled back so he could stare incredulously at his godfather. "Are you _mad_?"

"Is that a no?" Sirius asked Remus. 

Remus snorted. "I'm pretty sure Harry could arrange it with little to no difficulty," he replied. "Though I would suggest avoiding a change until Harry's at least in school, or the Ministry will have some..." 

"Less than polite things to say?" Sirius suggested before glancing back at Harry, who was staring between them, not quite sure what to think. "So?" 

"It could be arranged," Harry admitted before shaking his head. "I'll ask Carmilla about it next time I talk to her." The other two wizards choked and Harry raised an eyebrow at them, regaining his equilibrium at last. "Remus is right, however; the Ministry would never suffer a non-human to be the sole guardian of any child they believe is a human, which will hold doubly true for me, given the deed I've been attributed with. We'll revisit the topic either once the Ministry is no longer a concern, or when I turn seventeen, whichever comes first." 

Sirius huffed. "There's my little dictator." 

Harry flashed him a smile that was a little too toothy. 

"You realise you need a Marauder name, now," Sirius pointed out. 

Harry blinked and glanced at Remus, who shrugged. "It's sort of a requirement once you have some sort of animal form." 

Harry sighed. "Well, Bill calls me Growly." 

"What's up with that, by the way?" Sirius asked, eyes lighting with mischief. 

Harry snorted. "When he first found me outside Percy's room, he startled me and I reacted by growling at him." He huffed. "He was bloody lucky the Burrow registers as a safe place for me, or I might well have actually bitten him." 

"Let's avoid that, if at all possible," Remus murmured, wincing. 

Harry huffed. "My sentiments exactly. Anyway, I never gave him my name, so he picked Growly. Joked he should have gone with 'Hairy'." 

"Hairy has possibilities," Sirius mused. 

"I will start using your bed as the toilet," Harry snarled, "and I will bully Pinky into never cleaning it up." 

Sirius snorted. "You would never threaten that elf." He blinked, looking as though he'd just realised something. "Oh, hey, house-elves are non-humans, aren't they?" 

Harry quirked a corner of his mouth in a half-smile. "Yeah. Imagine what I'm going to do with Lucius Malfoy when I get my hands on him." 

Sirius and Remus both took a moment to imagine that, nasty smiles crossing their faces. 

Sirius shook himself out of it first. "Growly is just sort of...lame. Cute, but not proper... What was it you called him, Moony?" 

Remus blinked. "Called him?" 

"Alpha Lord," Harry supplied drily as he turned and crooked a finger at a wingback chair sat in a corner. It slid across the floor to him and he hopped up onto it, then raised an eyebrow at the startled expressions Sirius and Remus wore. "Wandless magic. Surprisingly easy when you've never held a wand before." 

"Certain that's not just a 'you' thing?" Sirius returned. 

Harry grinned. "Always possible. You were critiquing Bill's choice of nickname?" 

"Indeed I was," Sirius agreed with a shake of his head. "Growly is too cute for the all-powerful Alpha Lord, as is Little Paws, which would have been my personal choice." 

Harry couldn't help but growl at that, disapproving. 

"Sol Eyes," Remus said. 

Sirius frowned. " 'Soul Eyes'? Like what, window to the soul?" 

Remus rolled his eyes. " _Sol_ , as in the Latin name for the sun." Understanding painted Sirius' face, but Harry didn't get it. Which must have shown on his face, for Remus helpfully explained, "When it's close to the full moon, werewolves' eyes sometimes turn gold when they lose their temper. But the time of month doesn't seem to have any hold on you, since your eyes turn gold even though it's a week after the moon." 

Harry's eyes widened, remembering the way his older self's eyes had gone gold when they merged. "Oh." And then something else occurred to him. "Oh. Oh shit. I'm going to need a glamour on my eyes whenever I go out in public, _especially_ near the full moon." 

Remus' eyes widened in concern as well, but Sirius just flashed them both a smile that spelt trouble. "Nah. We just say you really liked the way Moony's eyes did that and had me cast a spell on you that make your eyes go gold when you're angry. I mean, Madam Pomfrey didn't catch your lycanthropy, so if someone gets suspicious and shoots a spell to check at you, it'll come back negative." 

"A general medical scan isn't the lycanthropy detection spell," Remus insisted. 

Harry frowned. "The other me never registered on the most commonly used spells, but there is a detection spell that would catch it." He snorted. "Given, that spell isn't unknown to send back false positives, so it's unlikely anyone could use it as valid proof of what I am." 

"You've never registered as a positive?" Remus asked, frowning. 

Harry's jaw tightened and he looked away, remembering the terror of being tied down and force-fed the cooling flesh of a just-killed werewolf. "I wasn't turned in a normal way," he bit out before shaking his head. "Sol Eyes is an acceptable Marauder name, at any rate. And if we're going to say you cast a spell so I matched Moony, we can say it's for that, rather than for an animagus form." He snorted. "I am, after all, only five. _Far_ too young for attempting that bit of magic." 

Sirius barked a laugh. "I am not putting anything past you right now, pup." 

Harry shrugged and admitted, "Not a terrible policy." 

-0-

"So, you're moving in with us, right?" Harry asked Remus over dinner, after a day filled with Marauder stories. (Every time Harry thought he'd surely heard them all, Sirius had another one to tell, and Remus was willing to tell plenty of stories that Sirius would have 'forgotten'.) 

Remus looked uncertainly towards Sirius. "Well, you sort of lack anywhere to keep me..." 

"We can sort something out," Sirius insisted. 

"Actually, we may not have to," Harry commented. At Remus' horrified look, he rolled his eyes and allowed, "We can do something for the next full moon, certainly, but let me ask you a question: Does your wolf recognise me as alpha?" 

Remus swallowed and set his fork down. "Yeah." 

"Then he'll listen to me, and I won't let you outside." 

"And if he decides to rebel?" Remus asked, voice strained. "Harry, you're a _pup_."

Harry sighed. "First off, I very much doubt Moony is going to pull anything on me. _If he does_ ," he continued, raising his voice when Remus opened his mouth to disagree, "I have no doubt Padfoot will have something to say. He can hold you off plenty long enough for me to retake human form and conjure up a cage for the rest of the night." 

Remus shoved away from the table. "No," he stated, hands clutching tightly at his knees. "No. You will _never_ be human while–"

"And what do you expect you can do to me?" Harry wondered, calmly meeting the older werewolf's panicked gaze. "You can't turn me, Remus." 

"I can kill you!" Remus shouted, jumping to his feet. 

"Moony–" Sirius started. 

"No! No, I am not–!"

" _Sit down_!" Harry shouted. 

Remus was in his seat, throat bared, before the last syllable left Harry's mouth. 

"Look at me," Harry requested, voice calm and firm. When Remus met his stare, clearly upset, Harry ordered, "Breathe, Remus." 

"We'll build a cage, or spell a room," Sirius promised after a moment of silence. "We'll see what happens this first full moon. If it doesn't go well, Remus can stay somewhere else. If it does, we'll stick with it. Safety first," he added, staring at Harry until he looked over and inclined his head in understanding. "Remus?" 

Remus let out a shaky breath. "One test," he agreed. "If Moony tries to attack you, you need to get out," he added to Harry. 

Harry very much doubted that would be a problem, but he nodded, aware that the man needed the security for his human half, too used to distrusting the very instincts that kept trying to placate Harry when he lost his temper. "One test," he agreed quietly. "We'll figure out some sort of ridiculously small doggy flap that I can escape out of if Moony proves a danger to me." 

Which was how Remus moved in with them. 

-0-

It took Bill a couple days to get Harry alone, but he did finally manage to squirrel them both away up in his room by bribing the twins into distracting the rest of the family with mayhem. 

"So," he said while Harry fingered the comforter he'd been wrapped in all those weeks ago, "what is 'Alpha Lord'." 

"Title of prophecy," Harry admitted, having already decided to trust Bill with a fair bit. Bill had, after all, once been part-werewolf, and he'd married a part-veela. Never mind his having a degree of trust from his goblin employers, which was markedly difficult to manage for any human. "It decrees that I serve the interests of all non-humans." 

Bill stilled, his hands wrapped around a puzzle cube Harry often saw him playing with. The solution changed fairly regularly, so one had to be quick about solving it if they hoped to ever get the cube open. "I'd wondered about that," he admitted quietly enough that, had Harry been human, he'd never have heard him. "I thought, at first, that you were just afraid of what the Ministry would do to a werewolf child, but then I realised you...you actively _hate_ them, don't you?" 

Harry shrugged. "No. I don't hate the Ministry, nor to I particularly fear them, though I am concerned about what the outcome of my being discovered might be. I _hate_ those who marginalise non-humans, who think that, because we aren't completely human all of the time, we should serve as the stepping stones of humanity. It's so very much like those purebloods who think muggles or muggleborns are beneath them, just because they don't have fully magical parents, except it's so much _worse_ , because this mentality is so utterly ingrained in the magical community that you don't even _think_ about it. You see a werewolf and you think 'monster'. You see a house-elf and you think 'servant'. You see a giant or troll and you think 'idiot brute'. You see a goblin and you think 'greedy'." 

Bill had opened his mouth at werewolf, but it had snapped shut when Harry'd mentioned house-elves, and he'd looked away entirely at the mention of giants and trolls. "I'm sorry," he whispered. 

Harry sighed and jumped off the bed, stepping forward to touch Bill's hands. When the teen looked down at him, so very wounded, Harry offered him a tired smile. "I don't blame you for the world you were born into, or for sharing the mentality of thoughtless abuse that you've been taught since the moment you first breathed. You're good people, you Weasleys. That's easy to see, no matter who you are." He stepped back, dropping his hands to his sides. "But that's part of the problem; it's never individual people, it's not the government, it's the _culture_.

"My title, 'Alpha Lord', it means I have a duty to completely destroy your culture, to remake it into something _everyone_ can live with. Something that you can write home about without having to cut out the nasty bits: Goblins warring for equality, house-elves shrinking away from a hand held out in friendship, werewolves who can't keep a job." 

Bill stared down at his puzzle cube for a long moment, silence falling heavily between them, and Harry wondered if he hadn't laid in on too thick, hoped he hadn't played too close to his true hand, because he _knew_ Bill would never accept a new world order where humans came out on the bottom, which was the only thing the non-humans would accept after thousands of years of discrimination, but he hoped the other could accept this happy medium, this suggestion of equality. 

Then Bill looked up and met Harry's unflinching gaze, determination in the set of his mouth before he opened it and said, "I've seen the fountain in the Ministry, the one that has the non-humans looking at the humans like they hung the moon. I've never– I never thought–" He took a deep breath, the air seeming to shudder over his teeth. "I'm only fourteen, but if you need my help with anything, _for_ anything–"

Harry smiled at him, forcing it out past the weight of his too-heavy heart. "Thanks, Bill," he said, and it tasted like the blood of innocents on his tongue, staring at a man who had been his friend while he agreed to his own death sentence. 

Bill grinned back, too trusting, and Harry wondered if making a horcrux would hurt more or less than this moment. 

-0-

The day of the new moon, Sirius sat down across from where Harry and Remus were crawling around on the ground, working on a jigsaw puzzle, and stated, "I had a question." 

"Merlin preserve us," Remus muttered and Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep from giggling. "Ask away, Padfoot." 

Sirius was quiet for long enough that Harry glanced up at him, one eyebrow raised. "You said you were prophesied to defeat Voldemort." 

Harry sighed and sat back. "Yeah. Did Mum and Dad tell you about that when they went into hiding, that there's a prophecy about me?" 

Sirius nodded. "Yeah." He glanced towards Remus, who was frowning, but nodded when Harry looked at him too. "They told all of us, had to tell us _something_ to explain why they were going into hiding. But I never learnt any of it, just that it painted a giant target on your back." 

Harry scratched his cheek with the puzzle piece he was holding. "Essentially, it says that either Voldemort or I have to kill the other." He shrugged. "Really, I'm not sure how true it is any more." He tapped his forehead, where his scar used to be, then leant forward to place the puzzle piece. "My scar was sort of important to the prophecy, it serving as my mark as Voldemort's equal and all that rot." 

Sirius took a deep breath. "He's not dead," he said, and his voice shook a bit, turning what had obviously been meant as a statement into something of a question. 

Harry met his stare. "No. He's trapped as a spirit right now, weak, but far from dead." 

Sirius closed his eyes. "Could we... Do you know how to kill him? Can we just take care of him while he's a, a spirit?" 

Harry picked up another puzzle piece and warned, "You're not going to like this." 

"We need him," Remus suggested, clearly aware of the direction of Harry's thoughts on the matter, and Sirius let out a broken moan. "We need him to bring down the Ministry." 

Harry nodded. "Yes." He glanced towards Sirius' sick expression before turning his attention back to the puzzle. "The Ministry has to go. Honestly, anyone in any position of power needs to either willingly give up that power, or lose it in such a permanent way that they would never think to try regaining it, or we're going to end up with a civil war within a year." 

"And when Voldemort decides to double cross you?" Sirius snapped, fear hidden in the anger colouring his tone. 

Harry turned hard eyes on his godfather. "Then I kill him. I know how to, have known how. It's not _hard_ , really, once you know how." 

"How?" Sirius demanded. 

"Tethers to life," Harry allowed, certain that was vague enough–

" _Horcruxes_?" Sirius breathed, eyes gone wide. 

Harry froze for a beat, honestly surprised his godfather had caught that. That he knew enough about such dark arts to know what Harry had been alluding to. 

"What are horcruxes?" Remus requested. 

Harry cleared his throat and looked at the other werewolf. "Containers to hold a piece of a person's soul," he explained and looked away when Remus paled, towards where Sirius was watching him with hard eyes. "Yes. I currently have two of them." 

"He made _more than one_?" Sirius hissed, horrified. 

Harry smiled at him. "Really? You're actually shocked? You know what he's capable of; do you honestly think he'd balk at splitting his soul multiple times just to assure no one would ever kill him?" 

"How many?" Remus asked, voice rough. 

Harry took a moment to consider that. "Right now...he's got five. I was six, Nagini made seven." 

Sirius turned away, making a noise that was somewhere between disgusted and horrified. " _Seven_."

"To be fair, he had no idea I was a horcrux." 

Sirius stiffened, clearly having missed that part. "Excuse me," Remus whispered, a hint of a growl in his voice, despite it being the dark of the moon, "but _you_ were a horcrux, pup?" 

Harry sighed and tapped his forehead. "My scar was, yeah. Unintentional. It's gone now, though." 

" _That_ was why Albus cared!" Sirius realised, throwing his hands up and turning back towards Harry. "You said you've got two?" 

Harry paused for a moment before very carefully setting his puzzle piece to one side. "One is in my room," he admitted as he reached under his shirt for the chain with his two rings on it. "The other is right here." He held up the Peverell ring. 

"You _wear_ it?" Sirius demanded, reaching for it. 

Harry snarled and curled his hands around the Stone tight enough to ache. "It is _mine_!" he got out between too-sharp teeth. 

Sirius hurriedly stepped back, holding his hands up in a sign of peace. He waited until Harry had relaxed a bit, one hand still tangled up in his rings, before saying, "Horcruxes are poison, pup. They fuck with your head." 

Harry clenched his hand around the rings, feeling their edges mark his palm and fingers. "I know exactly what they're capable of – that's why I don't carry around the other one – but this one is different." 

"It's really not." 

Harry smiled coldly at his godfather. "The Stone of the ring is a powerful magical artefact in its own right; the mind altering properties of the horcrux are almost entirely nullified." 

"What–?"

" _Leave_. _It_ ," Harry ordered, clamping down on the urge to snarl at his godfather again. 

"Let it alone, Sirius," Remus said when Sirius looked like he was going to pursue the matter. "If Harry starts acting odd, we'll revisit this then. For now–" he looked at Harry "–what are the other horcruxes? Would it hurt anything to gather them all in one place so he can't go hiding them later?" 

Harry shrugged and forced himself to drop his necklace back under his shirt, the weight reassuring against his chest. "Ravenclaw's diadem is at Hogwarts, Hufflepuff's cup is in Bellatrix's vault at Gringotts, and Voldemort's diary is with Lucius Malfoy. I expect the diadem is safe where it is until I can collect it my first year, but I'm not sure how to go about getting the diary or cup." 

"I might be able to get the cup, as Head of House Black," Sirius admitted. 

Harry grinned up at him. "That would be awesome. I can give you a rough description or, if someone can get their hands on a pensieve, I can show you a memory of when that older me got it." 

"I'll look into the pensieve," Sirius decided before shaking his head. "As for Lucius... If I manufacture a way to get us into Malfoy Manor, can you get it?" 

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Very likely. It would help immensely if I had Dad's Cloak, but I can probably manage the theft without it." 

Sirius frowned. "His invisibility cloak? It should be in your family vault." 

Harry shook his head. "I looked. My older self got it from Dumbledore Christmas of his first year." 

"Why would Albus have James' cloak?" Sirius asked, looking towards Remus, who shrugged. "Well, I can ask him about it; you should have it back anyway." 

"And I'd feel better about knowing you're going to Bloody Eyetooth every month with that cloak in your pocket," Remus added. He'd already agreed to accompany Harry that evening, but it was clear he wasn't happy about it. 

"Nothing for it tonight," Harry pointed out with a shrug. "But I agree: It would be nice to have it for any future visits." 

Sirius nodded. "I'll see to asking Albus tomorrow, then." He was quiet for long enough that Harry went back to the puzzle. "Pup?" 

"Hm?" 

"How long do we have? Before Voldemort comes back." 

Harry clicked a puzzle piece into place. "For the other me...he almost got his hands on the Philosopher's Stone in my first year. In fourth year, Wormy helped Voldemort perform a ritual to get his body back." He glanced up at Sirius. "I honestly have no idea. But I can ask the non-humans to keep an eye out." 

Sirius nodded and left the room. 

Harry snapped another puzzle piece into place before asking Remus, "He's not taking this as well as he's pretending, is he?" 

Remus snorted. "I expect, if we didn't have house-elves, we would come home to a wrecked house tonight." 

Harry rolled his eyes. "How are _you_ taking the Voldemort thing?" he had to ask, glancing up at the other werewolf. 

Remus was still for a moment before meeting Harry's eyes. "I don't like it," he admitted, "but a part of me, I think, already knew this was where we needed to go. We need a scapegoat, someone to take the fall for bringing the magical world to its knees. And, hey, look. Convenient Dark Lord." 

Harry laughed, and it only sounded a little strained.

.


	6. Five – The Little Victories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finding myself with the urge to run around referring to Voldie as the 'convenient dark lord' now.
> 
> The Dursleys finally get theirs in this chapter, near the end. The only deaths 'onscreen' are relatively minor on the violence scale, so that shouldn't be a problem for anyone.

It wasn't hard to win the loyalty of non-humans through kindness, Harry discovered quickly, if only because they were so unused to someone being honestly kind to them. And while that simple fact made his heart ache, it also made his life much easier, because Harry wasn't, at his core, a cruel person. There was a hardness to him, a determination to use any means to get done what he believed needed done, but he had never believed in mindless killing or torture to achieve his aims. 

"Some will see you as weak," Carmilla warned as the last of the vampires finally started clearing out a little after five, most rushing to beat the sun to their abodes, which were all over the UK, Ireland, and north-western Europe. 

Harry shrugged as he gently shook Remus' shoulder. His guardian for the night had fallen asleep some two hours earlier, finally calming after a night of watching the various patrons treat Harry with respect. "If someone thinks I would make an easy target, I will happily set them straight," he returned, utterly unbothered. 

The thing about having been an auror, especially in service to a Ministry that had delegated non-human policing to that department, was that he knew plenty of spells capable of stopping the most violent of non-humans (those capable of visiting Bloody Eyetooth, at least, as a giant wouldn't fit). More so, he was capable of casting most of them wandlessly, he'd already discovered. He didn't, necessarily, _enjoy_ the fact that he knew them, but preparedness was a lesson that one never quite unlearned. 

"I hope you don't come to regret your arrogance, Alpha Lord," Carmilla returned with a disapproving look from next to the floo. 

Harry sighed. "If I am proven the fool, then on my own head be it." He shook his head in response to Remus' tired look. "If I can't even stand against my own kind, what gives me the right to lead them against the magical humans?" 

Carmilla paused in the act of tossing a handful of floo powder into the dying flames of the hearth. "Not untrue," she admitted. 

"Anyway," Harry added cheerfully, "I _am_ only five. Some allowances must be made for my age." 

Carmilla let out a disbelieving laugh and left with nary a wave. 

Harry wondered if he should be insulted by the slight, but then he glanced towards the clock over the bar and saw how close the hand was to the mark for sunrise. Well, he could hardly blame her lack of societal niceties when the sun was involved. "Are you ready to go?" he asked Remus as the werewolf proprietor stepped past them with a respectful incline of his head to collect the bottles and glasses left lying about by vampires in a hurry to leave. 

"Yes," Remus agreed before letting out a yawn. "Merlin," he complained. "Tell me you're not due over at the Burrow today." 

Harry snorted. "Nah. We can go straight home and crash properly." 

"You are far too awake. How are you still awake?" 

Harry bit his lip against a grin as he pushed Remus towards the floo. "Energy of youth," he managed after a moment, entirely too amused. 

Sirius was awaiting them at home, grinning at Remus' obvious exhaustion and Harry's seemingly endless reserves of energy. "We can still set up a playdate for you, pup," he threatened as he took over pushing Remus along. 

Harry rolled his eyes. "No thanks. I'm going to bed." 

Sirius chuckled. "Of course. I'll spend today trying to hunt down the Potter family cloak, then. See if I can't find a way to tie it to Albus, beyond your certainty that he has it." 

Harry eyed his godfather suspiciously for a moment, then shook his head. "Sometimes," he said drily, "you act so much the oblivious Gryffindor, I forget you were raised by Slytherins." 

"That wasn't a compliment!" Sirius shouted as Harry closed his door behind him. 

Harry just laughed and set about getting ready for bed. 

-0-

When Sirius returned a little after one, Harry was curled up on the couch in the living room with one of the books he'd retrieved from the library in Grimmauld Place. Sirius sort of stood in the doorway and stared for a moment before letting out a resigned sound and stepping forward. "I'm pretty sure you're too young for that book," he complained. 

Harry raised an eyebrow at him. "Because of how complicated the language is, or because of the topic?" 

"Either. Both." Sirius sighed and dropped onto the couch next to him. "Your parents are rolling in their graves, knowing what you're reading." 

Harry snorted, since they were both aware this book was the least of his sins. "Please. Dad's probably grateful I'm _your_ problem, and Mum thinks you deserve me." 

Sirius took a moment to consider that before agreeing, "Accurate," and shifting in his spot to get at his pocket. "Moony still sleeping?" 

"Yeah," Harry agreed absently, distracted by the familiar shimmer of the fabric Sirius was pulling from his pocket. "Pinky went up to check on him earlier and said he was just tired. Is that my Cloak?" 

Sirius grinned and held it out. "Yup! Albus had it, like you said," he continued as Harry dropped his book to the ground in favour of his favourite of the Hallows. "He said James lent it to him to study when they went into hiding. Something about it not doing them much good while they're stuck in one house. Figure Lily got irritated with him for pulling it on for a laugh." 

Harry hugged the Cloak to his chest, curling around it and breathing just a little easier at its return. "This was all I ever had of them, before," he whispered, voice a little too tight. And while it didn't completely explain his attachment to the artefact, it was, nonetheless, true. 

Sirius held very still for a breath before he twisted and pulled Harry against his chest for a tight hug. "Oh, pup," he whispered, sounding so very heartbroken. 

They were both quiet for quite some time, Harry warm and secure (and maybe, just a little, thinking up ways to get the Elder Wand from Dumbledore), and Sirius...well. Harry could only assume he appreciated the quiet moment, those brief hints that, no matter how old Harry might act some days, he still very much needed his godfather. 

Finally, however, Sirius cleared his throat. "I found a pensieve in the Black vault while I was at Gringotts. If you wanted to show me that memory..." 

"Ah, yes." Harry waited until Sirius let go before standing and shoving his Cloak in a pocket. "It's in the receiving room?" he guessed. 

"Yeah, in its carrying case," Sirius agreed as he stood and led the way into the little room hidden away between the dining room and the living room, which had the fireplace that had been connected to the floo. (A clear addition made by the previous owners, as most wizarding families simply used the fireplace in the kitchen or living room.) The room had been warded to keep any arrivals that weren't tied into the wards inside the room until they were let in and – on Harry's suggestion – spelled to keep any gases from getting out into the house. 

A circular case just the right size to fit a pensieve sat on a small sideboard just inside the room, next to the door. Harry picked it up and carried it over to the dining room table, where he stepped back and let Sirius open it. It was padded inside, dark plum velvet hugging the rune-scribed bowl. Sirius pulled it out and set it on the table, then turned to Harry, wand drawn. "You let me know when you're ready and I'll collect the memory," he promised cheerfully. 

Harry rolled his eyes at this refusal to let him at any wands – he was stuck somewhere between amused and irritated with the caution – and closed his eyes to recall the memory of sneaking into Bellatrix's vault. He took care to start the memory after the door of the vault had reappeared, to lessen the chance that Sirius would realise that Bogrod was under the Imperius, and ended it shortly after he'd spotted the cup, since it just got embarrassing after that. 

"Kay," he heard himself say from some distance, and a wand touched his forehead. He opened his eyes to see the slime of silver memory leaving him and watched Sirius drop it into the pensieve. 

They leaned forward together and entered the memory. It was dark, Griphook ordering them to light their wands and hurry. Light filled the vault a moment later and Harry noticed Sirius staring at the older version of himself with wide eyes. A motion of his hand had the memory pausing and Harry asked, "Sirius?" 

"Merlin, you look so much like James," Sirius whispered as he turned to look at Harry. "How old were you?" 

"Seventeen," Harry admitted with a shrug before he waved towards his two best friends. "That's Ron Weasley, who you've met, and Hermione Granger, a muggleborn. Ron and I were best friends from the train, and Hermione joined our circle after an incident on Halloween our first year." 

"An 'incident'?" Sirius repeated, one eyebrow raised. 

Harry grinned. "That year's Defence professor let a troll into the castle. Hermione was hiding in the loo and Ron and I went to save her." 

Sirius barked out a laugh and Harry motioned to continue the memory. 

When they observed the activation of the anti-theft curses, Sirius choked a bit and asked, "Did you seriously manage to steal this cup from Gringotts _while the goblins knew you were there_?"

Harry laughed. "Yeah, actually. It was a bit hell, and involved escaping on the back of a half-blind dragon, but we pulled it off." He grimaced, remembering what came after. "Though, the goblins got the rough end of it. When they wouldn't let any of us into Gringotts again after the war, the Ministry, ah, _compelled_ them. It wasn't pretty." 

"No," Sirius agreed as Harry's elder form described the cup and reminded Ron and Hermione that it might be Ravenclaw's item that they were looking for. "You didn't know which horcrux Bella had?" 

Harry snorted. "No. We didn't even know what Ravenclaw's artefact might be, honestly. We were flying half-blind for this entire endeavour." 

_"It's there, it's up there!"_ Harry's older self called out and Harry paused the memory the moment Ron and Hermione's wands turned to light the cup. 

"So, that's Hufflepuff's cup," Sirius murmured, stepping around the tens of multiplied treasures crowding the vault to get a closer look. 

Harry followed him with care, recalling all too vividly how hot the vault had been and how agonising it had been to touch the objects. "It is," he agreed as he reached Sirius' side. "I can't guarantee that it'll be in exactly that spot in her vault at the moment, but that's where it was when I found it." 

Sirius nodded. "Do you have a good view of the back?" 

"I ended the memory shortly after this," Harry admitted. "I can add the memory of after we parted from the dragon, though. We sat and stared at the cup for a bit, so you can see all the angles." 

"Let's pull that memory up, then," Sirius decided and they rose back into their bodies. 

Sirius returned the memory of Bellatrix's vault and retrieved Harry's next offering with easy efficiency, then they returned to the pensieve. 

"Merlin, you three look like hell," Sirius said as they watched Harry and his two friends dab the essence of dittany onto their many burns. 

"Not one of our favourite adventures," Harry replied drily as his elder self pulled out the cup and set it in the grass. He paused the memory and Sirius took a slow walk around the image. 

"Should be easy enough to spot," Sirius said after a moment, tone vaguely sarcastic. 

Harry, remembering well how full of gold and gems Bellatrix's vault had been, just smiled knowingly. 

After they'd returned to their bodies and Harry had his memory back, Sirius boxed up the pensieve. "We'll keep it upstairs," he decided as he latched the top. "Just in case there's anything else you feel the need to share." 

Harry smiled and shrugged. "Entirely possible. Alternately, you could always show memories of your favourite pranks." 

Sirius' eyes lit up and, as he left the dining room, Harry was left with the certainty that he'd be enjoying a number of memory-pranks for the next week. 

-0-

Sirius managed to get the goblins to let him into Bellatrix's vault on Wednesday. Harry and Remus were in the living room, working on another puzzle, when he returned, and he stood over them, shaking his head. 

"So?" Harry asked a bit absently as he very carefully moved a group of pieces he'd been putting together off to one side towards the connecting piece Remus had just put down. 

"We could keep it with the dishes," Remus suggested and Harry and Sirius both turned vaguely horrified looks on him. "Is that a no?" 

"I am not contaminating our food," Sirius insisted. 

Remus rolled his eyes. "I'm thinking in a 'hide it in plain sight' manner." 

Harry finished putting his group of pieces in place, then tapped his chin in thought. "It's not a terrible idea," he admitted, glancing up to grin at Sirius' disgusted look. "What? It's not. We don't have to put it with dishes we'd actually _use_ , you know. Set up a curio cupboard in the dining room with ridiculously gaudy tableware – there's plenty left over from Grimmauld Place that Kreacher couldn't sell off because it was cursed – and put it in there. Couple strong wards on the doors to keep anyone from snooping inside, enough otherwise cursed objects to throw off any curious spells, and turn it so the badger's not showing, and no one'll even note it. And then _I_ don't have to sleep in the same room as a pile of horcruxes." 

"That's...not a bad idea," Sirius decided. "And I do approve of spreading them around a bit if we're keeping all of them in the house. Can we put the one in your room out anywhere?" 

Harry considered that for a moment, then shook his head. "It's a locket, and very obviously Slytherin. Moreover, it's capable of speech, so I'd rather keep it closeted. The one Lucius has, though, is an old book, so I expect that can be shoved on a bookshelf somewhere. The diadem...will be as difficult as the locket to set out, but I expect we can sort something out for it by the time I actually collect it." 

"I love that Voldemort made so much jewellery into horcruxes," Sirius muttered before raising his voice to call, "Kreacher!" 

"He actually wore the ring in school, and the locket was his mother's," Harry commented as Kreacher popped into the room, a belligerent expression on his face. "Merlin's bollocks, you're a pair of children," he complained, earning a guffaw from Remus. "Kreacher, we want to set up a curio cupboard in the dining room with some of that cursed tableware and the cup Sirius is holding. It's like the locket, so treat it with a bit of caution, please." 

Kreacher gave a sharp nod and held up a hand for the cup. "Kreacher understands, Master Harry." 

"I thought he was calling you 'Young Master'," Sirius said after Kreacher had left with the cup. 

"After you officially made me his master, he dropped the 'young'," Harry admitted with a shrug as he turned his attention back to the puzzle. "I did ask him to use it around people who don't reside here, just to keep up appearances, but I otherwise don't mind the change." 

Sirius sighed and wandered away, having already discovered that he had no patience for doing puzzles the muggle way. 

He was back not quite ten minutes later, a scroll clenched in one hand. "Lucius wrote back," he announced before either of the other two could ask why he'd returned. "Harry and I are welcome to visit for tea on Saturday, but Remus is to remain behind." 

Harry pressed his lips together to keep from voicing some choice words about the Death Eater – he suspected Lucius hadn't used Remus' name in the letter – which left Remus to carelessly comment, "I didn't particularly want to go, anyway. This close to the full moon, I might accidentally give in to the urge to tear his throat out." 

Harry shot him a gratefully amused look. "A most excellent point. Very well," he continued, looking up at Sirius, "Saturday tea it is. I'll find some way to slip away and hunt down the diary. I expect I'll be sent off with Draco at one point so the adults can 'talk', or some such rubbish, and it won't be hard to slip him." 

Sirius laughed and left them again. 

-0-

Harry was right about how easy it had been to slip Draco, the boy even more unobservant now than he'd been at Hogwarts as a teenager. Honestly, finding a spot where there weren't any portraits was far harder, but he managed to do so with a bit of backtracking and slipped on his Cloak. A wandless silencing charm kept him from chancing discovery by making noise. 

" _Point me_ Tom Riddle's diary," Harry whispered with his eyes closed, turned in the direction of the library. The spell, irritatingly, led him in the opposite direction – a subtle tug on his right hand – and he sighed and started off. He really should have expected that Lucius wouldn't put so dangerous a book where Draco might come across it. 

The spell led him to a heavily warded door on the first floor. Harry scowled at it for a moment – there was no way he could get through there without a wand – before he turned his mind to other options: He could call Kreacher to help, but he had no idea if the Malfoys had up some sort of ward that would warn them about the presence of other house elves; he could try to get Dobby's help, but he didn't know if the house-elf was disillusioned of Lucius enough to chance betraying his master; or he could try his trump card. 

"Death," he whispered. 

_"Master,"_ Death replied in his mind immediately. _"You have need of me?"_

Harry nodded, though he doubted Death could actually see him, given both the stories of the Cloak and the fact that the other was speaking in his mind. _'Yes,'_ he replied, switching to thinking the conversation since it had worked in the past, and it made him feel less like a madman. _'I seem to lack any way past Lucius Malfoy's wards to get to the diary. I would appreciate your assistance.'_

There was no response for a moment, then the door clicked open, the wards obediently parting before him like a curtain. 

Harry raised an eyebrow at that, because wards didn't _do_ that. _'Do you **enjoy** breaking the laws of magic?'_

_"Anything else you wish for, Master?"_ Death replied, and Harry rather thought it sounded smug. 

Harry grinned. _'Not for the moment. Your assistance is, as ever, most appreciated.'_

_"Why, Master, you're going to make me blush,"_ came the dry response. 

He laughed outright at that, stepping past the mutated ward and into the room, which appeared to be some sort of study. _'Can skeletons blush?'_ he wondered somewhat rhetorically. 

_"I'll be certain to inform you if I've ever occasion to discover an answer,"_ Death promised. 

_'Much obliged.'_ Harry paused as a thought occurred to him, eyes skipping over piles of books on the shelves behind the large, ornate desk that dominated the room. _'Have the Dursleys remained at Privet Drive?'_

_"They have. Dumbledore told them to remain through the end of the year, as the protective wards remain in place, though they have weakened significantly. I believe the original intention was to have you returned there if Sirius proved an inadequate guardian."_

"But of course," Harry muttered out loud as he motioned for the Point me to strengthen so he could have some help finding the diary, as looking around was turning up nothing. 

_"Have you intentions to deal with them, Master?"_

_'I do, but I'd like to make those plans for a time when Sirius has an incontestable alibi, so the Ministry can't even **consider** dragging him in. I'd like to have my own alibi so Sirius doesn't suspect me, but I can weather that particular storm if it comes to it.'_ He stopped in front of a bookshelf layered in Notice-Me-Not charms and a couple misdirection spells of various strengths. He'd almost turned away twice while distracted by answering Death, but the Point me spell kept dragging him back. "Oh, for the love of magic," he muttered before bearing down on the spells with his own will and breaking past them. 

Death cackled, the sound seeming almost to echo in Harry's mind, and he grimaced in response. _'I swear to Merlin, I will have a wand by the time I turn six, even if it means sneaking into Hogwarts and jumping Dumbledore.'_

_"I could always kill him for you,"_ Death offered, tone disturbing in its level of sweetness. 

_'What, and chance you taking the Wand back? Hell no.'_

Death cackled again. _"I'll get it back eventually, Master."_

_'I'll leave it to you in my will,'_ Harry retorted as he snatched the diary, eyes narrowed past the spells trying so very hard to keep him away. _'Are any of the rest of these books even vaguely interesting?'_ he asked, deciding he'd rather cheat than fight with the spells to read spines, especially since half the spines were blank. And, honestly, stealing a couple of Lucius' books as payback for making him fight against the spells sounded like an excellent plan. 

Death was silent for a long moment before it ordered, _"The black one with white runes on the spine and the one made of flesh."_

"Ugh," Harry complained as he grabbed the specified books. They and the diary were all slipped into the expanded pouch tied to his belt and he turned away from the spelled bookcase. _'You're invaluable. Thank you.'_

_"Blushing, Master,"_ Death promised. 

Harry snorted and stepped from the study, pulling the door closed behind him. The ward smoothed back out behind him and he left to find a place to remove his Cloak, then find Draco. 

-0-

Harry actually forgot about the two extra books he'd snuck off with, having been dragged off to the Burrow by a curious Bill almost as soon as he'd returned home. It wasn't until Remus asked after the diary on the thirtieth, clearly trying to distract himself from the full moon, that Harry remembered he'd come home from the Malfoys' with treasures other than the intended horcrux. 

The diary was put on a bookshelf in the living room with some rarer books from the Black and Potter collections. Most of them had spells on them – most to keep children from opening them, a couple to heighten knowledge retention, while two others were prank spells – so they hoped that would help distract from the diary. General alarm spells were put on the shelf, ostensibly to inform anyone if a child tried pulling down any of the books, but really to ensure they knew if anyone was a little too interested in the diary. 

Harry shoved the other two books under his bed, unable to look at them until after the full moon was over and everyone had stopped stressing out. 

When the moon rose, Harry and Sirius were already in their animal forms with Remus in one of the rooms at Grimmauld Place, Harry and Remus having decided they might as well test the spells Remus and Sirius had been casting to turn the building into a werewolf refuge. 

Remus' change looked as painful as Harry knew it was, and he whined in sympathy. 

Moony looked confused for a moment, looking between the tense dog that he very likely recalled from years previous and the wolf pup sitting placidly in front of him. After a quiet moment, Moony bared his teeth at Harry and took a step forward. 

Padfoot let out a warning growl. 

Moony ignored the dog and took another step forward, golden eyes glinting with murder. 

Harry met the other werewolf's mad eyes and let out a low snarl, not angry, but a clear warning. 

Like a switch had been flipped, Moony dropped to his belly, then rolled over, showing his soft underside in a clear sign of deference. 

Harry let out a pleased yip and stepped forward to lay down at Moony's side, fully intending to sleep the night away, and certain the two adults could use the rest, after how tense they'd been all day. 

Padfoot let out a confused sound, but came over to lay down on Harry's other side as Moony turned onto his side and sprawled out next to Harry, apparently agreeing that sleep was a good plan. 

Harry was woken at sunrise by the feel of a body shifting next to him. He nudged Padfoot and the animagus immediately scrambled up, halfway through his own change by the time he reached the door. 

"What–?" Remus asked once he'd finished the potions Sirius had plied him with before turning his attention to Harry, who had taken the hint and let himself change back. 

"Sol Eyes decided we should all take a nap and Moony decided that was an excellent plan," Sirius informed Remus while Harry knocked back his potions. 

Remus turned to Harry with wide eyes, and he set down his empty potion vial before holding up one hand, fingers held close together. "Teeny tiny confrontation wherein Moony tried to prove being bigger meant being alpha. I snarled a bit, he gave in. We're great friends, now." 

Remus shook his head, expression split between disbelief and awe. "Merlin's beard, Harry." 

Harry grinned. "Anyone else up for heading home and getting a massive breakfast from our wonderful house-elves?" He stood and started out of the room. 

"Alpha Lord says you're moving in permanently," Sirius informed Remus behind him. 

"I'll go out to talk to my landlord today," Remus promised, awe in his voice. "And let me just say, I can't believe I just said that. I don't feel even vaguely like last night was the full moon. How–?"

"Never question the powers of the Alpha Lord," Sirius insisted. 

Remus laughed. "Does Harry know you've named yourself his personal publicist?" 

"Harry is resigned!" Harry shouted back, just to prove he could hear them. 

Walburga started shouting obscenities and Harry rolled his eyes while Sirius started laughing a bit madly; he really should have set Moony on the portrait to see if werewolf claws could do what no amount of spells could. (In the other reality, he'd eventually set up two-way silencing wards around her frame and reapplied them every other week or so. Not really doable here, when none of them came by regularly enough to reapply the spells.) 

For the moment, he just bared too-sharp teeth at the woman until she shut up with a gulp, then tugged the curtain back into place. _'Next full moon.'_

-0-

Harry finally got a chance to look at his new books that afternoon, while Sirius and Remus were off taking care of the cabin Remus'd rented and moving the rest of his things into the house. 

The black book was written entirely in runes and Harry grimaced at it for a long moment before letting it fall shut and making a mental note to find a runic dictionary and start translating the book. At least it wasn't thick, but he still expected it would take him about a year to finish, especially since he had so little time to himself. 

The book bound in flesh appeared to be a necromancer's journal, hand-written in spidery script that looked like it should be difficult to read, but actually wasn't. 

"Why did you tell me to grab a...is there a proper word for a necromancer's book?" Harry asked, half expecting Death to be paying attention solely because it always seemed to be paying attention. 

Death obediently appeared before him, leaning casually against its scythe. "It is not simply _a_ necromancer's book, Master, it is _the_ necromancer's book. The very text I left those non-humans with a gift for Death magic." 

Harry stared at Death for a long moment before turning back to the text in his lap and running a reverential hand over the page opened in front of him. "Well then," he murmured, "I suppose it's about time it was returned to non-humans." 

Death cackled at him and Harry raised an eyebrow in response. "It is most unlikely any remain with the ability to read the text, Master." 

Harry frowned. "I can read it." 

"You are my Master; I can hide no secrets from you," Death explained before waving its skeletal hand towards the window, fingers clicking. "Others, though, have forgotten my magic, and so they have lost the understanding I once gifted them." 

"Can I teach them again?" Harry asked, looking down at the book again. "I won't live forever, after all, and it's not fair that this magic might die with me." 

Skeletal fingers caressed Harry's cheek and he looked up into the heavy darkness of Death's hood. "Master," it whispered, genderless voice rattling, "I would be most grateful." 

And then Death was gone, the sensation of bone fingers lingering against Harry's cheek. 

Harry sighed and got up to put the runic book away on his small bookshelf, then returned to his bed to start on Death's book, half hoping there would be some sort of steps for teaching others how to read the book, but fully expecting he'd have to learn that trick through trial and error. 

-0-

During the last week of November, the day after the full moon, Sirius got an owl from the Ministry saying there was a position for him in the aurors. He'd actually gone a bit back and forth about whether he wanted to join, given their stance on non-humans, but Remus and Harry were both sick of him mucking about the house all day and, as Harry said, "Better to know your enemy than live in ignorance," which had made Sirius scowl, but he'd sent his request to join their ranks off. 

Harry went to the Bloody Eyetooth same as usual on December's dark moon. He waited there until Carmilla showed up well after sunset – she'd become something of an advisor for him in regards to the vampires – then motioned her forward and explained, "I have something to see to tonight, while my guardians expect me to be otherwise occupied. It should take me no longer than an hour." 

Carmilla shrugged. "Anything interesting?" she asked a bit absently as she accepted the glass of warm blood from the vampire bartender. 

Harry flashed her a smile that was all teeth. "Just a few muggles who need to choke on their own blood." 

Her eyes lit up and she licked her lips. "Mm. Alpha Lord, you are tempting me to follow along." 

Harry snorted, as he intended to travel by using a trick he'd learnt in Death's book, which used the Realm of Death as a sort of shortcut through the living realm. "Only if you can," he told her before motioning and manipulating the thin barrier between life and death, opening a doorway just big enough for himself. "One hour," he promised, trying not to smile at her abhorrent expression. 

"Do feel free to return in such a manner _outside_ the pub, my Lord," she complained. 

"Apologies," he offered honestly, looking between Carmilla and the vampire bartender, both of whom were clearly disturbed by his manipulation of the Death magic. 

He stepped through his doorway and absently closed it behind himself, already motioning to cast another spell that would show him the quickest path to where his next doorway would be. 

He passed dozens of dark shades during his journey, some floating around listlessly, others floating in one place. It was wholly depressing, and he was quite grateful to reach his destination after only six minutes of walking; in truth, he could understand why the vampires so disliked anything to do with the Realm of Death, though he expected their distaste was more tied to their immortality than the aesthetics. 

Death appeared when Harry opened the doorway that should let him out into the Dursleys' entrance hall. "You will be sending me souls, Master?" it asked, sounding almost hopeful. 

"I shall be sending you three," Harry promised with a smile that was, perhaps, a little too bloodthirsty, but he couldn't quite bring himself to care; the Dursleys had this day coming. 

"I look forward to it." Death motioned him on, so Harry stepped into the ground hall. 

Voices came from the dining room, the lateness of the year meaning that, even with Carmilla's late arrival, he was there in time for dinner. He stopped to listen for a moment, his smile widening as he recognised a fourth voice. "Ah," he whispered, glancing back towards the closing doorway into the Realm of Death, "it seems you're in luck, Death; you will be receiving _four_ souls tonight." And Harry would have the chance to destroy the one childhood tormentor that he'd never found it within himself to grant even a partial forgiveness. 

He stepped into the kitchen doorway and leaned against the door jam, waiting for someone to notice him. It took a while, but Petunia did finally spot him. She went deathly pale and let out a shuddery little noise that might have been his name, but was more likely meant as a sound of horror. 

Vernon and Marge both turned to look at Petunia, then followed her gaze to the boy in the kitchen doorway. Harry had put on a smile, pleased at his aunt's reaction, but not quite to the point of baring his teeth with the intention of terrifying them. Vernon, as consequence, paled at first, then turned purple, puffing up with indignation and self-importance. 

"Come back, have you, boy?" Marge demanded. "Realise what a good soul my brother was for taking you in and decided to try worming–"

"You are a thoroughly disgusting individual," Harry interrupted, tone conversational. "Quite the fool, too, but I suppose that's simply a misfortune written into your genes." 

"You dare–!" Marge started, standing and brushing off Petunia's cautioning hand. 

Harry smiled a death-grin, baring too sharp teeth, and flicked a wandless spell at the woman which snapped her neck. Marge dropped like a tonne of bricks. 

"Mum says hi," Harry said into the following silence, the Dursleys staring down at Marge's body in horror. "She asked me, actually, if I wouldn't mind reminding you, Aunt Petunia, of the last time the two of you had tea." Petunia went, if possible, even paler and turned terrified eyes on Harry. "She wouldn't tell me exactly what all threats she promised, but I figure I can make it up as I go along, yeah? Reckon I'm clever enough to make her happy." 

"Please," Petunia whispered. 

Harry let out a laugh meant to grate on the nerves and was pleased to see all three muggles flinch. The scent of urine filled the kitchen and Harry wrinkled his nose. "Oh, come on." He looked at his cousin, who looked to be about two seconds from fainting in terror. "Was that you, Dudley? That is pathetic." He huffed. "Fine, you know what, I can be gracious." He flicked the spell at Dudley to snap his neck, granting him a fairly painless end. 

"You two," he continued, looking between his aunt and uncle, "will not be enjoying such a peaceful end." 

He probably should have felt ashamed at the terrified whimpers Petunia and Vernon let out, but all he felt was pleasure and a sort of distant relief that, once he'd left this house, this chapter of his life would be _over_.

-0-

When Harry stepped back into Bloody Eyetooth not quite an hour after he'd left, absently picking at the flecks of blood stuck under his nails, he found five vampires clustered around Carmilla, the rest of the pub silent as they watched what looked to be a nasty confrontation. Harry's entrance, however, had caught everyone's attention, and two of the vampires took a step towards him, teeth bared. 

Harry raised an eyebrow at them, fully relaxed after his earlier exercises. "Did you need something?" he asked. 

"You are an imposter, a pretender hoping to take a throne that will never be filled!" one of the vampires who'd stepped forward declared. 

"Am I now?" Harry asked, unimpressed. "And what leads you to that belief?" 

"No one so weak, so _pitiful_ , could hope to lead non-humans to victory!" 

Harry smiled, tips of too-sharp teeth just barely showing between his lips. He motioned for the vampire to come at him with one hand while his other hand curled close to his chest, readying a spell meant to act as sunlight against a vampire's skin. With so many other vampires in attendance, he'd have to be careful in using it, but that was a minor matter. 

Both of the closer vampires jumped towards him. Harry sidestepped one of them as he pressed the hand with the sunlight spell against the stomach of the other. The one who caught the spell let out a scream of agony even as he turned to dust. 

Harry didn't bother watching the dying vampire, instead turning to the one who had run past him. He had just regained his balance and was turning towards Harry with hatred in his eyes, but an absent motion had a doorway to the Realm of Death opening behind him, and another motion had him shoved backwards into it before he could realise the danger. The doorway closed as Harry turned back to the room, dust still settling between him and his audience. 

"Anyone else want to complain about my age?" Harry asked curiously. 

The three vampires still standing in front of Carmilla wisely exited through the floo without another word. 

Harry let out a hum and walked over to his usual spot next to Carmilla. She looked distinctly unwell and he frowned. "I can have them hunted down, if you want," he offered as he shot the bartender a sharp look. The man hurried to collect a glass of blood for the Countess at Harry's side. 

"I appreciate the offer, Alpha Lord," Carmilla whispered, voice rasping like dry paper, "but I expect they'll be beyond the reach of even the most talented of hunters before you could contract one." She accepted the glass of blood with a grateful nod and drank it like a woman starved. 

"You underestimate my hunter," Harry murmured, the words fond. "Will you take care of them for me?" he asked the air, certain the one he was speaking to wasn't far. 

Death appeared next to the door of the pub, far enough away from any of the vampires in the room to keep from distressing them. (Next to Harry, Carmilla let out a choked noise before letting out a slightly startled laugh.) "As my Master wills," Death promised before vanishing. 

"One day, Alpha Lord, I will remember not to underestimate you," Carmilla promised. 

Harry chuckled. "On the contrary, my Lady, I expect you will continue to do so for the rest of my life. It is simply to your advantage that I am so very fond of you that I cannot bring myself to be offended." 

Carmilla pressed a bloody kiss to his cheek. "You may be correct, my Lord. In which case, it seems I must, instead, endeavour to remain in your good graces." 

"My Lady, I have every faith in you," Harry promised and she smiled. 

-0-

"Harry," Sirius said over dinner some days later, sounding uncertain. 

"Sirius?" Harry returned, glancing up at him from where he'd been refilling his pumpkin juice. 

"I heard today that your aunt and uncle are dead." 

"Are they? Hm." Harry returned his attention to his food. "Well, good riddance to bad rubbish and so on." 

"It seems they were murdered," Sirius added. 

Harry blinked. "Oh? Any culprits?" 

"No so far as I know." 

"Why?" Remus asked, his question clearly addressed to Harry. 

Harry flashed him a toothy smile. "Why, I'd like to nominate them for a medal." 

Remus snorted while Sirius let out a loud laugh, and that was the last time the Dursleys were ever mentioned in their home.

.


	7. Six – Uneasy Alliance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor time skip (about a year and a half), but Voldemort makes his first appearance in this chapter, so there's that. Any questions should be answered by Death in the second section, but let me know if there's something that's still confusing you.

Despite the fact that Harry was in Knockturn Alley at least once a month, he didn't visit Diagon Alley for the second time until after his seventh birthday. The lack had been part born of Sirius' hectic auror schedule, and part born of Harry's own disgust at the possibility in facing the fawning of the wizarding public, should someone chance recognising him. 

Honestly, he'd probably have considered holding off, but the Weasleys knew Remus was a werewolf – it had been hard to hide it from them, given how often Harry was invited over for a playdate – and Molly insisted on Harry staying at the Burrow the day after the full moon, especially when Sirius had to work, so Remus could have a day to relax. (Molly would have insisted on Harry staying over the night of the full moon, too, but Harry had put his foot down and thrown a fantastic tantrum at the mere suggestion that he wouldn't be able to check on 'Uncle Remus' as soon as the sun rose. Sirius, politely, had waited to lose his shit until after they'd got home, laughing stupidly until he was blue in the face from lack of oxygen.) 

At any rate. Day after full moon, plus Sirius having to work, plus the Hogwarts letters coming out the day before and all three of the eldest boys needing to get things, equalled Harry finally getting dragged to Diagon. 

"It could be worse," Bill told Harry once they'd snuck off from the rest of the family, Molly trusting her eldest to keep an eye on the boy she appeared to consider her adopted son. 

"How so?" Harry grumbled, staring irritatedly at the shoppers around them. "It's the day after the letters have gone out; _everyone_ is out to shop today." 

Bill snorted and ruffled Harry's hair. "You could have no wand." 

Harry smirked and touched the wand sheath hidden under the sleeve of his robes, within which was the wand Sirius had let him pick out of a collection of old Black family wands for the Christmas of his fifth year. Harry had been much too young to get a wand through any legal means, but Sirius had admitted that it wasn't uncommon for pureblood families to save old wands so the children could learn some spells before they were allowed to get their wand. Given, that didn't usually happen until the child was nine at the earliest, but Harry was a rather unusual case. 

"People could also be expecting to see you," Bill added. 

"Oh, I suppose that's true," Harry allowed at last; he was very much not looking forward to the summer he turned eleven, as that would be the summer he officially re-entered the wizarding world. He expected plenty of hopeful gawkers, and had already taken to joking that they might be better served doing their shopping on the continent. Or in America. 

They had just finished collecting the three ingredients Bill had needed to restock from the Apothecary, when Harry saw a face that froze the blood in his veins. " _Tom Riddle_?" he heard himself ask, loud enough to carry across the short distance separating them, in spite of the sounds of the crowds. 

The man that he'd caught but a glance of turned back towards him, burnt-brown eyes narrowing in a face that looked to be no more than thirty-five. "And you are?" the man demanded. And though his voice was nothing like the high-pitched whine that Harry remembered the Lord Voldemort of that other reality's being, his inflection was a _perfect_ match. 

Harry stared at him for a moment, completely thrown, before Bill touching his shoulder brought him back to himself. "A party interested in an alliance, if you can hear me out without threats of grievous harm." 

Riddle gave him a quick glance-over and smiled nastily. "Why don't you go along home and play your–"

Riddle's mouth snapped shut as Harry pulled out the chain with four rings – he'd added his parents' wedding rings when Sirius gave them to him for his sixth and seventh birthdays – usually hidden under his robe. "Bill," Harry said to his companion, "I'll find you in a bit. I've some business down Knockturn." 

"Mum'll have both our heads if she finds out," Bill warned, but there was a note of resignation to the words; he'd already learnt that Harry's title meant duties sometimes found him toeing the line of Molly's temper. 

Harry flashed the elder boy a smile as he tucked his necklace away. "Best to avoid her for an hour, then." 

"Don't be late, Growly," Bill ordered before turning and walking away. 

Harry turned his smile on Riddle. "Shall we to Bloody Eyetooth, Mr Riddle?" 

"You haven't introduced yourself, wretch," Riddle snarled even as he obediently followed Harry, very likely unable to walk away after seeing one of his horcruxes. 

Harry held his silence as they stepped into Knockturn. They got about two shop-lengths in and Riddle looked like he was going to get nasty, when a sharp-eyed wizard stepped in their way, an appreciative eye looking over Harry. "You're a pretty 'un, then. 'Ow much fer 'im?" he asked of Riddle. 

Harry snarled, showing far too much tooth, and dug his wand into the man's sternum. "Were I you, sir, I would piss off before I decide to test my bow-tying skills with your intestines." 

The man fled and Riddle let out a laugh that sounded a little like it had been surprised out of him. "Violent little brat, aren't you?" 

Harry flashed him a smile full of too-sharp teeth and watched Riddle take a startled step back. "You have no idea," he promised before continuing their way to The Bloody Eyetooth. No one else dared approach them, something warning them back, and Harry suspected his eyes were glinting gold again, the clear sign of an irritated werewolf who kept his wolf too close to the surface. 

"Alpha Lord," the werewolf bartender called in exhausted surprise when he noticed who had entered the pub. 

Harry frowned at the man, whom he'd become quite fond of over the years. "Richard, you should be in bed," he commented as he stopped next to his usual stool. 

The bartender shook his head. "I run with a pack, Alpha. I'm fit for work." 

Harry let out a heavy breath. "All the same. I understand why you and Edmund don't get a third," he said, naming the vampire who managed the bar each night, "given the lack of acceptable non-humans, but that doesn't mean I approve of the strain it puts on the two of you." 

Richard offered him a knowing smile. "Perhaps when you're older, Alpha, you can serve as our third." 

"Cheeky," Harry returned fondly. When Riddle let out a disgusted noise behind him, he rolled his eyes and added, "We require one of the private rooms and refreshments. Butterbeer for me. Riddle?" 

Riddle sneered. "Butterbeer is acceptable," he allowed. 

Richard offered Harry an uncertain look as he handed over one of the keys to the warded rooms upstairs. "Number one, Alpha." 

Harry leant up and kissed Richard's cheek as he took the key, a show of gratitude and fondness that seemed all too acceptable to a race that spent one night a month licking their own arses and ripping out each other's throats, then pushed away from the stool and led the way upstairs to the designated room. 

There, after checking to ensure the butterbeers had been sent up with a plate of his favourite biscuits – he really did adore Richard – he locked the room and let the wards snap into place before turning to Riddle and saying, "I'm Harry Potter." 

Riddle's eyes went wide and he had his wand pointed at Harry before he could take a breath to continue. " _Avada_ –"

"If you kill me, Tom, my godfather will destroy all of your horcruxes," Harry informed him drily as he walked over to the table and the food on it. "Well, except the one I'm wearing, I expect, since you'll likely get to it first." He flashed a sharp smile at the frozen Dark Lord. "I feel it's only fair to inform you that all but two of the eight beings in the room downstairs will do their damnedest to see you dead should you kill me. So, really, I wouldn't." 

Riddle let out a snarl and stalked over to the other side of the table to drop heavily into a chair. "It seems, Potter, that you have me at a disadvantage." 

"Well, yes," Harry agreed. "I'm not so much a fool to meet with you when the advantage lies anywhere but with me. Incidentally, it wouldn't have worked at all, save for the simple fact that you underestimated the threat I pose due to my age. Which, really. You lost your last body because you tried killing a one-year-old. You'd think you'd have learnt better by now." 

"Your survival, _boy_ , had nothing to do with _you_ ," Riddle snarled, one hand clenching tightly around his bottle of butterbeer. 

"Oh, I know. It's entirely due to the fact that, because Snape begged you to spare my mother, you gave her the option to step aside and live. Except she chose to sacrifice herself, invoking old magic that used her life force to safeguard my own." 

Riddle stared at him. 

"The theory behind the magic is actually quite interesting, though I do lack access to the book that has the most in depth research into sacrificial rituals. Something about seven being 'too bloody young' to have access to that sort of material. Honestly, I think Sirius is afraid I'll start getting ideas." Harry rolled his eyes and picked up a biscuit. "These are really good, by the way. Bipdey and Shrill make the absolute best chocolate biscuits. I keep trying to get them to give the recipe to my house-elves, but Shrill seems to think I won't ask for them any more if I'm getting them at home. Which, when you think about it, is entirely–"

"Are you incapable of shutting up?" Riddle snapped. 

Harry flashed him a grin. "Were you ready to talk, then?" he returned cheerfully before taking a bite of his biscuit. 

"You cannot possibly be Harry Potter," Riddle announced. 

Harry snorted. "This should be good." 

Riddle scowled at him. "You know far too much to be Potter. Potter is _seven_."

Harry pointed a finger at himself. "Hello. Do you see me? Do I not look seven?" 

"That is beside the point!" 

Harry rolled his eyes. "So I have a propensity for knowing things I really shouldn't. Danger of having a run-in or two with Death when I was younger. On the other hand, the pros include such wonders as being able to talk to a select few dead people and an all-knowing being willing to tell me where a certain not-so-dead Dark Lord's soul tethers are hidden. Which, for the record, the flesh-rotting curse?" Harry tapped his chest where the Stone was hidden. "Not even passingly cool. Actually, that was downright _cruel_."

Riddle flashed him a smile that was every bit as monstrous as some of Harry's best. "You seem to have survived it. More's the pity." 

"I really don't know why everyone seems to think you were charming before your mutilated soul started affecting your appearance and temperament," Harry remarked. "You're an unmitigated bastard to me pretty much every time one of us happens to have eyes on the other. Which, given, some of that can be attributed to your mutilated soul, but I only put so much stock in that." 

"It does tend to occur when you prove a threat to me." 

Harry pointed a finger at Riddle. "First off, that prophecy is one hundred percent your fault. Second off, I have far more important things to worry about than some hack of a seer declaring that one of us has to die at the hand of the other." 

"...you know the whole prophecy," Riddle realised, eyes going wide. 

Harry sighed. "Incidentally, yes. I consider it a load of bollocks. More importantly, the thing about prophecies is that we can both agree to ignore the bloody thing and there's not a damn thing Fate can do about it." 

Riddle narrowed his eyes, clearly unmoved. "Tell me." 

"No. You want the prophecy, you risk yourself and do the legwork. I'm not handing you anything, _especially_ since I don't hold any stock in it." 

Riddle took a long drink of his butterbeer, then asked, "You said something about an alliance in Diagon?" 

Harry nodded. "I despise the Ministry and find myself largely ambivalent towards muggles and muggleborns. You agree to give non-humans the freedoms they deserve when you reform the Ministry in your image, I promise the alliance of every non-human in Britain." 

Riddle snorted. "You can't possibly promise that, Potter." 

Harry smiled at him and stood. "You'd be surprised what I can promise." He motioned with his wand and a bag appeared, which he began dropping biscuits into. "I hold court here the evening of every new moon. That's about as close to neutral territory as you're going to find if you want to talk again." He held out the last biscuit to Riddle. 

Riddle gave the biscuit a disdainful look, but accepted it. "I want my horcruxes back, boy." 

Harry raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh no. I'm far too fond of having them around to keep you in check." 

" _Potter_ ," Riddle snarled. 

Harry reached over and patted his cheek, quickly snatching his hand back when Riddle looked like he might go with the non-human theme and bite him. "Perhaps I'll give you one back, if you come to this month's gathering." 

"Which one?" Riddle demanded, eyes flickering towards where the chain of rings tented the front of Harry's robes. 

Harry hummed in thought. "The locket, I suppose." He nodded to himself and slipped the bag of biscuits into a pocket. "Yes. It has a tendency to get a bit chatty when it's bored, I've found, and I'm getting a bit tired of it critiquing my every clothing choice." 

Riddle shook his head, a vaguely constipated expression on his face. 

Harry smiled and took one last long sip of his butterbeer, then set the empty bottle on the table and turned to leave. Just before he disengaged the wards, he turned back to the Dark Lord still seated at the table, nibbling at the biscuit he'd taken. "Oh, and Tom?" 

Riddle snarled at him. 

"If you cross me or my people, I will lock all of your horcruxes in a room with Fiendfyre, then come and rip out your throat with my teeth," Harry promised sweetly before he left the room. 

"My companion is still up there," Harry told Richard as he returned the key. "Also, it's likely he'll show at the new moon, though he may come bearing a different face. I'll try to come early so I can catch him before any trouble starts." 

"Do you expect some?" Richard asked, brow furrowed in concern. 

Harry offered him a strained smile. "I will be honestly surprised if everything goes smoothly." 

"Not reassuring, Alpha," Richard complained. 

"It wasn't meant to be," Harry admitted as he leant across the bar and kissed Richard's cheek again. "Give Edmund my love," he added as he hopped down and left the pub for Diagon Alley and Bill. 

With luck, he'd finished that quick enough that he wouldn't have to contend with Molly. And if he did, hey. He had enough biscuits in his pocket to give one to each of the Weasleys; something about giving Molly a moment of peace while her children indulged in sweets put her in the mood to forgive any infraction. 

-0-

When Harry flooed home that evening, Sirius was still at work while Remus remained with the pack of werewolves who lived at Grimmauld Place, leaving Harry the house to himself, save for the two house-elves. 

"Master Lord wishes food?" Kreacher asked, appearing at Harry's side as he stepped out of the receiving room. (The title had come from Kreacher cornering Harry, one afternoon, about him being the Alpha Lord. When Harry had admitted to the truth, both Kreacher and Pinky had begun calling him 'Master Lord' while in the presence of other non-humans or Sirius. Harry resigned himself, aware when he was facing a losing battle.) 

"Molly fed me, but I'll take some juice and any biscuits you might have lying about up in my room," Harry replied. He didn't really need the biscuits, but it felt cruel to simply brush Kreacher off just because Molly couldn't resist feeding anyone that came into her house. 

Kreacher gave a quick nod and popped away, so Harry made his way up to his room. 

A small pile of post awaited him, mostly written updates from the various pack alphas who had occasional trouble on the moon, either because of a nearby human settlement, or because of a particularly troublesome packmate. Harry had begun ordering vampires or centaurs near packs that roamed too close to humans to keep an eye on the pack during the moon, which had drastically cut down on the number of Ministry retaliations. 

It was a wonder, sometimes, what a bit of non-human cooperation could do to ease their lots in life. 

With his post seen to, Harry added a reminder on his calendar to send things with Bill when he returned to Hogwarts so he could collect the diadem. He'd already warned his friend that he needed him to collect an artefact from the school, and that it wasn't something he wanted to be caught with. He'd be taking both Harry's Cloak and a special box to contain the diadem on the train, then owl everything back once he'd collected the diadem. 

Truly, Harry could just have Death collect the diadem, but he'd been so far holding to his decision to keep the horcrux hunting in mortal hands, beyond Death's retrieval of the Stone, and he saw no point in deviating simply to have the last one a couple weeks sooner, especially since there was no real way that Riddle could check on that particular one while Dumbledore was alive. 

Though, there was another matter he thought Death might serve with, so he took a quick sip of his pumpkin juice before calling, "Death." 

The familiar cloaked figure appeared before him, scythe held as though it had been about to swing it. "Master," it replied, letting the weapon drop to the ground between them, blade turned to the side to lessen the chance of Harry accidentally getting impaled on the curved blade. 

Harry raised an eyebrow at the apparition, but left all curiosities about Death's regular dealings to say, "I ran into Voldemort in Diagon today." 

"It may be more appropriate, Master, to call him Tom Riddle," Death helpfully pointed out. 

Harry snorted. "True enough. How did he return so quickly? And why with so...pretty a face? Or is that a glamour?" 

Death shifted its grip on its scythe, the clicking of bone on aged wood more a comfort than anything else, any more. "In the other reality, he attempted a ritual on the fifth anniversary of his defeat, which drew from his most recent horcrux, to return him to power. However, that horcrux was you, unbeknownst to him, and your mother's protection polluted the ritual, so it backfired." 

"My not being a horcrux allowed it to succeed this time," Harry realised. "So it drew from–"

"The cup," Death answered. "As for his current appearance, that is truth. Your habit of collecting the horcruxes and keeping them in close proximity to each other has healed a great deal of the damage he did to his soul by creating so many." 

"Really? That's interesting." Harry glanced towards his cupboard, where the locket was still hidden away. "So I expect he'll be a little less insane, to match his pretty face?" 

"He is," Death agreed. 

Harry hummed, fingers fiddling with a biscuit he didn't actively remember picking up. "Well. I suppose that explains why he was willing to sit and actually listen to me, rather than making continuous attempts on my life. That bodes well for our alliance." He snorted and dropped the biscuit. "I doubt Sirius or Remus will agree, but they're both still unsure about putting our lot in with our resident unwilling scapegoat of a Dark Lord. Still, I approve, and he's _definitely_ not getting more than the locket back, now." 

Death let out a cackle. 

Harry flashed it a fond smile. "Has he made contact with any of his Death Eaters yet?" 

"He has been residing with Kenric Nott and his son, Theodore," Death reported. "Kenric knew him in school, so it is sensible for him to go to one of those followers who would recognise him as he currently is." 

Harry nodded. "That is sensible. I'm surprised he hasn't started going around to his other Death Eaters yet, but I can only assume he's gathering intel on his other followers, seeing who he can trust, and who would cause him difficulty now that he doesn't look like a nightmare given human form. Last time, he got much of that information from Wormy and the Ministry girl, who's-her-face." 

"Bertha Jorkins, Master." 

"Her, yes, thank you. This time, he has a fair bit more room to move about, and a sort of anonymity, to boot, as the number of people who would recognise him for who he is are...slim. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Hagrid, those of his older Death Eaters who shared classes with him..." Harry shrugged. "Ah, well. It doesn't much matter to me that he's currently keeping a low profile. Truly, it's probably for the best, although this would be the time to take the world, since it's likely Dumbledore has his guard down. 

"I have to ask him his plans when next we meet," Harry decided, mentally tabling the issue until the new moon. "Thank you, Death. You are, as ever, invaluable." 

Death reached out and cupped Harry's cheek with its bony fingers, an odd little gesture of fondness that was all it allowed to show that it might be more than ambivalent towards Harry. After a beat, it withdrew and vanished to resume its usual killing spree, leaving Harry to continue his work on the runic book he'd taken from Lucius' study two years ago. 

It hadn't proven hard to convert the runes into their Roman equivalent, but that had led to the discovery that the book was written in another language. Death had offered to give Harry the knowledge to read it, but Harry had turned him down, determined to figure out the puzzle on his own. He had accepted Death's suggestion that some of his vampire contacts might know more about the language, and had brought a translation to the next new moon. 

Three months of no new information led him to finally thinking to bring a copy of the untranslated runic form. Carmilla immediately recognised the language then, calling it the 'Old Tongue', and was able to provide him with the resources necessary to translate the book himself. 

He'd finally been able to start the translation in March, and he had enough at this point to discover that the book seemed to be some sort of written history of non-humans before the magical humans rose to power. It was a little dry, but after spending almost two years on it, now, Harry was determined to see the project through. And it did given him something to do in those down hours when he'd already gone through his post and his attention wasn't being demanded by one of the Marauders or the Weasley brood. 

-0-

Harry rolled his eyes when Sirius and Remus both met him in the receiving room when he got ready to leave for The Bloody Eyetooth late in the afternoon on the new moon. "I don't know what you two expect to do that a pub full of non-humans won't be equally capable of handling," he commented, though he was, in truth, already resigned to the escort. Had resigned himself before he told his guardians about meeting Voldemort, even. 

"Yes, but those non-humans don't know he's coming," Sirius insisted. 

"And enough of them either don't know or simply don't _care_ to know your history and what it means to invite Voldemort into the same pub where you are," Remus pointed out logically, because it was true enough that many of the non-humans that came to The Bloody Eyetooth – which, beyond the usual company of vampires and werewolves, included some goblins, various fairie folk, a revolving door of various were-felines, and a sphinx who seemed to get a kick out of terrifying the denizens of Knockturn Alley by flying by every third month or so – couldn't care less about the inner workings of human politics, beyond how those workings might affect them. 

Harry just shrugged. "Fine. Far be it from me to stop you," he decided before tossing down a small handful of floo powder and calling out his destination. 

"You're playing a very poor dictator," Sirius informed him as soon as the animagus had stepped through the grate. A few of the werewolves in the room shot Sirius disapproving looks, smelling his obvious humanity, but they were all enough of regulars to know that Sirius was Harry's – as Carmilla put it – 'pet human' and so was welcome. (The fact that he'd bodily protected a newly turned werewolf from a fellow auror intent on 'putting the young man out of his misery' last November had won him a number of points, too.) 

"Even dictators need a couple hours of downtime," Harry retorted with a grin before he walked over to the bar and pulled himself up onto his usual stool. 

"Your godfather's the only human to come through today, save for my afternoon regulars," Richard reported as he pulled out a bottle of butterbeer for Harry. 

"Oh, I don't expect Mr Riddle to be showing up until much later," Harry insisted as Sirius and Remus joined him, both taking care to avoid the stool that everyone knew was Carmilla's. "Though, he's not always known for his wisdom, so I thought to come early." 

"Lord just wants _biscuits_!" Shrill insisted as she popped into existence on the bar. 

Harry grinned at her. "Maybe a little bit." 

Sirius let out a knowing laugh from Remus' far side. 

"Okay," Harry admitted, "more than a little bit. But you love me enough that you'll feed my naughty addiction, won't you, sweet Shrill?" 

Shrill let out an irritated huff, but the pleased light in her eyes rather gave her away. "Lord is such a flatterer. Lord will be eating what Shrill and Bipdey gives him for dinner, or Lord will gets no more biscuits." 

"You drive a hard bargain, madam," Harry complained before letting out a put upon sigh. "But, yes, as you say. I promise to completely clear my plate at dinner." 

"Lord had better," Shrill insisted before popping away, leaving a tray of chocolate biscuits in her wake. 

"Those elves adore you," Richard said with a laugh as Harry grabbed a biscuit. 

Harry grinned. "And I them," he admitted with honest fondness for the pair before he started eating his biscuit. "Perfect," he declared once his mouth was empty again. He grabbed another biscuit and turned to observe the room while the three adults at the bar with him all laughed. "Right," he called to the room at large, and everyone looked up, "I'm officially in. If you're here to talk to me, come on up. Otherwise, continue." He waved a negligent hand at everyone and chuckles filled the room. 

A couple of those in attendance needed to talk to him, and others dropped by periodically. (Most were aware, after two years, that he showed up some time between lunch and dinner and remained until dawn.) Remus and Sirius eventually moved to a table, freeing their stools for those who had a matter that took long enough that the appealer appreciated the chance to sit down. 

Riddle didn't show up until after sunset, stepping in through the Knockturn Alley entrance not long after Carmilla had settled in at Harry's side. The entire pub went silent, those non-humans able to smell when a human was nearby leading the charge, while others followed their cue once they figured out that something was amiss. 

"Welcome, Mr Riddle," Harry offered easily before cocking his head to one side. "Ah. I assume you would rather I use your pseudonym." 

"If you would," Riddle agreed tightly as he moved towards Harry, burnt-brown eyes raking over the crowded pub distrustfully. 

Harry nodded, then let out a sharp whistle that brought all gazes to him. "Voldemort is here on my invitation. Anyone wants to make a fuss, you come to me." 

"Respectfully, Alpha Lord," one of the younger vampires called, "that's not the humans' self-titled Dark Lord. I understand you were a bit young–"

"Do you honestly think Voldemort was born and attended Hogwarts looking like the marriage between a snake and a poorly vampire?" Harry wondered, amused. A couple people tittered in the crowd while Riddle let out a disgusted sound and settled into the open stool next to Harry. "You will simply have to trust me on this, my friends." 

Heads were bowed in understanding and most people made to return to their previous discussions, only to be distracted when a werewolf whom Harry occasionally had trouble with stepped forward. The man's eyes were flecked with gold, never a good sign on the new moon. 

Harry sighed and slipped from his stool to step forward. "Do you have a grievance, Bruce?" 

The werewolf bared human teeth in a silent snarl before growling out, "I do, Alpha. And so should _you_!" He pointed behind Harry towards Riddle. "He killed your parents!" 

"And?" Harry returned, ignoring the hiss Sirius let out at his callousness. "We need his assistance to remove the human Ministry from power." 

"We have no need for such traitors as humanity!" Bruce roared. 

Around the room, others traded uncertain looks, too many sharing Bruce's world view. 

"No?" Harry wondered, tone amused. "And how do you intend to remove the humans from power, then? Shall we all floo in on some full moon and massacre everyone in the Ministry building? Perhaps, in victory, we shall continue outwards and simply brutalise anyone unlucky enough to be on the streets in muggle London." 

" _Yes_!" Bruce shouted, grin feral. 

Harry sighed. "And then?" he asked. "What about when the new day starts? When my weres are weak from the moon's fall and my vampires are asleep? All of the humans that we _didn't_ kill will discover the massacre and they will _strike back_. They will come into our homes, our covens and campgrounds. They will slaughter us all indiscriminately, even those who didn't take part. Is that the path you choose?" 

Silence filled the pub, the tens of bodies filling the magically expanded room barely breathing. 

Harry nodded. "No, I thought not. To destroy the human Ministry, you must face them as humans. It is to our favour that we happen to have a man intent on doing that very thing, and he's already got people in place to further his aims. I don't care what your personal grievances are from the last war, I don't care how little you want to ally with humans, we _need_ their help. So I am accepting it. And you will either follow in peace at my side, or you will be declared Omega and I will hunt you down like the traitor you are. Am I clear?" 

"Yes, Alpha Lord," the room murmured. 

Harry stepped forward and met Bruce's downturned gaze. "I didn't hear you, Bruce," he commented, tone easy. Friendly, almost. 

Bruce's eyes glinted and he snarled at Harry. "I will _never_ work with that _monster_!" he snapped before starting around Harry, towards where Riddle sat at the bar. 

"Talking never works," Harry heard Riddle mutter even as he spun and caught Bruce's arm, one violent yank dislocating the werewolf's shoulder while a foot swept against his ankles brought him to his knees. 

"That. Is. _Enough_ ," Harry ordered, voice gone hard and unforgiving. "You are treading on my last nerve, Bruce." 

"Then brand me, _child_ ," Bruce challenged, turning to glare up at Harry. 

Harry sighed and motioned with his free hand, opening a doorway to the Realm of Death in the middle of the room. All of the non-humans flinched back, familiar with what that particular doorway was after years of watching Harry throw people into them. Harry somewhat absently shoved Bruce with his foot, putting enough strength behind the push to send him sliding across the well-worn floor, whimpering in terror, and through the doorway. 

Harry turned back to the room, one eyebrow raised. "Anyone else want to holiday in the afterlife, or may I return to my biscuits now?" he asked. 

Silence met the question. 

Harry let out a snort and waved the doorway away, then hopped back up onto his stool and grabbed for one of the biscuits on the plate that had just appeared for him. 

"I really wish you wouldn't do that, my Lord," Carmilla complained, delicate nose wrinkled in displeasure. 

Harry shrugged. "Apologies," he offered after swallowing his mouthful of biscuit. "The last time Sirius found out I'd cast the Killing Curse, however, I had to spend an hour listening to him read the punishment for use of illegal spells from one of those damnedable law books he brought home to vandalise. He doesn't know what to make of this particular ability, and he doesn't actually see the proof that they're dead, so he never complains. Though," he added with a scowl, "I expect I'll be suffering the silent treatment for the next few days because I acted like I didn't care about my parents." 

"People put too much stock in the importance of parents," Riddle interrupted. 

Harry pointed a finger at the man. "You don't get to say that unless you can honestly say you never once wished a visiting family was willing to take you home with them," he insisted and Riddle's eyes went wide. "More importantly, I'm not sure your opinion counts at _all_ , since you bloody went and killed your father and grandparents the first chance you got, and then framed your uncle for their murders." 

"Potter–" Riddle snarled. 

"I really wouldn't start threatening him in here, Voldemort," Remus commented as he stopped behind Harry. 

Harry turned and offered a biscuit to his non-Ministry-approved guardian. "Hey, Remus. How pissed off at me is he?" 

Remus' lips thinned even as he accepted the biscuit, a clear sign that Sirius wasn't the only one who took offence to Harry's apparent disregard of his parents. 

"Ah," Harry replied, nodding his head. "Very well. Are you two heading home?" 

"We are," Remus agreed, voice tight. 

"I'll see you in the morning, then," Harry allowed and Remus turned away. He let the other werewolf get two steps before calling, "Remus." When Remus looked back at him, Harry pulled out his chain of rings, the diamond of Lily's engagement ring sparkling in the light from the candles and the fireplace on the back wall. 

Remus' expression softened. "Okay, pup," he agreed before turning again and going to collect Sirius. 

"What's so great about a few rings?" Riddle demanded as Harry turned back to his plate of biscuits and slipped the rings away. "I assume _my_ ring wasn't meant as some sort of reassurance." 

Harry raised an eyebrow at the Dark Lord. "Putting aside all claims of ownership when it comes to your misplaced treasures," he retorted, earning a him a glare, "the other three rings belonged to my parents. Sirius resized them so I could wear them if I wanted, but I wear them on the chain so I don't lose them when I change form." 

Riddle rolled his eyes. "You can't just put them on the chain before the moon rises?" 

Harry's mouth twitched with amusement, but it was Carmilla who said, "You weren't informed what the Alpha Lord was?" 

Harry snorted and he looked over at her. "I didn't bother explaining much to him." 

Carmilla sighed. "No, which is why he sought out one of my childes for more information." She looked past Harry to Riddle and explained, "The Alpha Lord is the only werewolf capable of changing at his leisure, against the moon." 

Harry turned to watch Riddle's eyes widen and flashed him a too-sharp smile. "I'd give you a demonstration, but I'm trying to avoid the catcalling that my Lady always starts when I have to run off with my clothing to change back," he commented drily, and Carmilla let out a terrifying cackle behind him. "I can't imagine what sorts of scars you'd have left me with if I'd come to you as innocent as I appeared the first time, my Lady," Harry added, rolling his eyes. 

Carmilla leant forward and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "You have scars enough, my Lord," she murmured, regret in the words. 

Harry offered her a tired smile. "Don't we all?" he murmured in response and they shared a silent moment of understanding before Harry turned back towards Riddle, flashing a toothy smile. "So, my favourite source tells me you're holed up with Kenric Nott, playing houseguest, and that you haven't tried making contact with any of your other free followers." 

"Your 'favourite source' is disturbingly well informed," Riddle muttered. 

"Why thank you," Death said as it appeared on the empty stool next to Riddle. 

Riddle jumped away, letting out a string of curses impressive enough that, had she not been busy resisting the urge to back away herself, Carmilla would have pretended to blush at them. 

Harry rolled his eyes at the reactions of the immortals and offered Death a smile. "To what do we owe the pleasure, Death?" 

" _Whose_ pleasure?" Riddle snarled. 

Death let out an amused rattle. "I see why you want to keep this one alive, Master. He is quite entertaining." 

Harry chuckled, ignoring Riddle's disbelieving stare. "That's neither here nor there. Was there a reason you came to torment my allies?" 

"I thought I would tell you, Master, that the last of your treasures is currently visiting Gringotts." 

Harry perked up. "Oh, _is_ he?" he replied before turning around to search the crowd. "Gornuk!" he called upon spotting the goblin he'd been looking for. "I need a favour!" 

Gornuk shot him a beady stare. "I'll not be helping you steal from Gringotts vaults, Alpha Lord or no," he warned. 

Death cackled. 

Harry rolled his eyes. "I want to steal something off a human currently at the bank, though he needn't be on bank property during the theft. He's just a bit of a wily bugger, so I need someone to distract him." 

Gornuk considered that for a moment before standing from his table. "And what does Gringotts get for helping the Alpha Lord?" 

"The pleasure of serving him!" a werewolf shouted. 

"Don't get greedy, you little bugger," a vampire added. 

" _Enough_!" Harry snapped and both of the speakers immediately bared their throats, eyes flicking uncertainly towards where Death sat at the bar. Harry turned his attention back towards Gornuk. "Once I start Hogwarts, I'll retrieve Gryffindor's sword and return it to you," he promised. 

Gornuk flashed him a nasty grin. "You have a deal, Alpha Lord." Behind him, the other three goblins he'd been sharing a table with all grinned and stood. 

Harry chuckled and turned to Death. "Thank you, Death. Your assistance is, as ever, most invaluable." 

Death touched his cheek before vanishing. 

The goblins hurried forward, Gornuk motioning that Harry should follow if he intended to come along. He immediately jumped down from his stool and caught up, trusting Carmilla to hold the fort during his absence, only to realise Riddle had joined him. 

"I have no interest in remaining behind in that pub when I can finally get something on you, Potter," Riddle hissed in response to Harry's curious look. 

"Ah. Yes, I should have expected that," Harry admitted. "You'll want to stay out of sight, however, as it is Albus Dumbledore I intend to steal from." 

Riddle froze in place and then had to run to catch them back up as the group reached the entrance to Diagon Alley. "Why are you stealing from _Dumbledore_?"

"He has something that belongs to me," Harry replied before gently touching Gornuk's shoulder to get the goblins to stop for a moment. "Dumbledore. If you can waylay him while he's got his Wand out, that would be to my preference, but I can manage fine if it's not." 

The four goblins nodded their understanding, then continued towards the bank. 

Harry smiled after them for a moment, then whispered, "Kreacher." 

"Young Master?" Kreacher replied as he appeared. 

Harry closed his eyes and forced the change, knowing that was the best way to approach this. He was still small, still obviously a pup, but there was a hint of his maturity becoming obvious in the thicker, coarser fur he'd developed, darkening to the inky black he'd had in another reality. 

"I would be more impressed if you weren't a _pup_ , Potter," Riddle commented, but he still took a quick step back when Harry snapped his jaws at him. 

Harry snorted, then trotted across the empty alley, trusting Kreacher to safeguard his clothing. Riddle didn't follow, apparently taking Harry's warning about Dumbledore to heart. 

He waited in the shadow of the tall white building, absently picking at the dirt caught under his claws with his teeth. When the old wizard finally stepped out, whistling and carrying a package, Harry tensed to spring, eyes turned towards the doors of Gringotts for his requested distraction. 

Shortly after Dumbledore cleared the last stair, Wand still out from shrinking his package, a goblin ran from the bank, calling Dumbledore's name. 

Harry didn't wait to see what excuse the goblin intended to use, he just ran forward and jumped when he was close enough to reach the precious Wand, teeth gentle as they closed over the ancient wood. He kept running once his paws hit the cobblestones again, straight into a doorway into the Realm of Death that had opened just large enough for his small form to get through. 

He formed another doorway next to where he'd left Kreacher and Riddle, earning a choked gasp from Riddle and a displeased look from Kreacher. He forced himself back into his human form and dropped the Wand into one hand before rasping out, "Sorry, Kreacher." 

"Master Lord shouldn't so lightly use Death's magic," Kreacher informed him before snapping his fingers. Harry's clothing immediately reformed around him, saving him the trouble of having to get dressed while his whole body still ached from the two changes. 

"Thanks, Kreacher," Harry told his house-elf with a fond smile and Kreacher huffed before popping away. 

"That's the wand Dumbledore started using after Grindelwald's defeat," Riddle said, clearly recognising it. 

Harry hummed an agreement as he looked over the Elder Wand. "Yes. He won it off Grindelwald. He still has his old one, so I don't regret stealing it from him in the least. And, anyway, it's mine." He waved it over himself, silently casting the strongest healing spell he knew, and sighed in relief as his aches vanished. "Much better. Though I suppose I'd best keep you from Sirius and Remus, if only to avoid uncomfortable questions." 

A penny-sized doorway to the Realm of Death opened at the Wand's tip and the Wand changed shape, becoming a thicker, shorter version of itself. 

"...the hell?" Riddle said. 

Harry blinked a few times himself before letting out a delighted laugh and kissing the Wand. "You are an absolute marvel." He jumped to his feet and grinned up at Riddle's disbelieving stare. "I'm back to Bloody Eyetooth until dawn. You're welcome to follow along or not, as is your pleasure." 

Riddle shook his head. "Some of us require sleep, Potter." 

Harry rolled his eyes. "So I'm told. Well, then, I'll see you again whenever you happen–"

"Potter," Riddle interrupted, eyes narrowing, "my locket." 

"Ah! Yes, I did promise, didn't I?" Harry recalled as he reached into his expanded pocket. It took him a moment to find the locket, but he pulled it out when he did and held it out. "Here you are then. _You_ can argue fashion with him, though I expect you actually have similar tastes." 

"Potter," Riddle said with a sigh as he slipped the locket around his neck. 

Harry smiled at him, then snapped his fingers as something occurred to him. "Oh! Just so you know, there's a fake locket where you'd hidden that one. Regulus Black switched them as retaliation for you leaving his house-elf to die. I would suggest leaving it there, just to frustrate anyone who connects the dots of your past and thinks to check there." He wiggled his fingers in an approximation of a wave at Riddle's narrowed stare. "Until next time you crash one of my new moon gatherings, Tom," he added before skipping off down Knockturn Alley, unspeakably grateful to have the Elder Wand at last.

.


	8. Seven – Determining Boundaries

When Harry woke from his post-new moon sleep, he found an unusually tall pile of post awaiting him on his desk. He groaned and got up, calling, "Kreacher!" 

The house-elf appeared off to one side, where he wouldn't be in the way of Harry getting clothing for the day. "Master Lord called?" 

The lack of snarky comments when Harry opened his wardrobe caught him off guard, and he shook his head with a smile upon recalling that Riddle had the chatty locket. "Yes. Since I have so much post, and I doubt Sirius or Remus are of a mind to chat with me right this moment, I'll take lunch up here. If one of the two ask after me, mention only my post as my excuse, please." 

"Kreacher understands," the house-elf replied before vanishing to collect Harry's food. 

When Harry got to his desk after relieving himself and changing, he found a sandwich and some fresh chips with a thermos of pumpkin juice and smiled fondly at the attempt to limit any mess around his paperwork. "Thank you, Kreacher," he murmured, knowing the house-elf would hear, ears ever-tuned to Harry's words. 

Harry started in on the post as he ate, quickly finding them to, for the most part, be variations on the question 'What should I call Voldemort?' Most of them wanted to know if Harry would be upset if they used one of the magical humans' address for him – You Know Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named – as that was more comfortable for them than using Voldemort. Others wanted to know if he found it offensive if they referred to him as the Dark Lord, as that was what his servants called him in the first war, or 'my Lord', given that Harry was technically their lord, not Voldemort. 

Harry had to stop eating because he found himself laughing over how bloody _concerned_ his people were about this. Honestly, he didn't care one way or the other how they referred to Riddle, beyond them being respectful enough that he didn't attack them to save face in front of humans. Harry could never be offended by his people using whatever was most comfortable, and since his title as Alpha Lord was born from prophecy and not his own ambition, he hardly cared whether his people reserved the title of 'my Lord' for him alone, or shared it with another. 

After weeding out those few questions pertaining to something else, Harry penned a general response, then used the Elder Wand to duplicate it enough times that everyone would receive a copy. Another flick and a clever spell that another Hermione had taught another him while he'd been trying to instil facts about werewolves in magical humans, and the copied letters had vanished from his desk, one sent to each person who had sent him the question. 

The bulk of letters were banished to the bin and Harry returned to eating while he gave proper attention to the rest of his post. Four were from people uncomfortable with Voldemort's policies, one was from someone asking for more information about Voldemort's policies, and the last two were unrelated inter-coven disputes that he'd been off-and-on mediating for the past couple months. 

To the four concerned with Voldemort's policies, Harry requested simply that they agree to neutrality in regards to Riddle and his people until such a time as the Ministry was out of the way, whereupon they were more than welcome to take their grievances out on the lot. 

To the request for information on Voldemort's policies – incidentally from a vampire of Carmilla's era, who had been in South America during Voldemort's first rise and only cared about happenings in England because of Harry – Harry explained Riddle's belief in the superiority of all-magical blood. He did mention that many of Riddle's followers thought poorly of non-humans in general, but that he would be putting his foot down about that matter or there would be no alliance. Either way, Riddle intended to take out the current magical human government, which suited the non-human agenda, so the alliance was profitable in the short term. 

Now that he had the Elder Wand, Harry felt secure in offering to apparate out to the covens that were having trouble – all half-joking suggestions that he could travel there via the Realm of Death had been met with immediate and uncompromising refusals – and manage in person what they were having little luck doing through post. 

With his post out of the way, Harry brought his empty dishes down to the kitchen – ignoring Kreacher and Pinky's insistence that they could have collected it – then left for the Burrow after making sure the house-elves knew to pass on his whereabouts should anyone ask. 

-0-

"What I can't understand," Sirius said as Harry pulled his Cloak out of the box Bill had sent with it and the diadem in its special-made case, "is why you thought it was a good idea to give Voldemort back one of his horcruxes." 

Harry resisted the urge to sigh, having been expecting this question since he'd promised to give the locket back. "Two reasons. One, I am not dealing with a cornered, paranoid Dark Lord just because I like having his immortality to hold over his head. Two, if he's got one of them, he's less likely to go around creating a half-dozen more as a preventative measure." 

"But he'll hide the locket somewhere and we'll never find it," Sirius complained. 

"At least we know what the locket _is_ ," Remus insisted in return. "I'd rather lose access to a horcrux we know about, than be required to hunt down a handful that we know nothing of. Though–" he turned to Harry, bringing him to stop in the process of standing, having been intending to put the diadem away and leave Remus to talk sense into Sirius "–how likely is he to go making more horcruxes?" 

Harry finished straightening. "So long as I don't destroy any, I suspect he'll probably make one more so he has his preferred seven-part soul–"

Sirius let out a sickened sound while Remus winced. 

Harry shrugged. "Yes, well, it's his soul. If he holds to form, it'll be a snake and he'll use it to see to any missions he doesn't trust his Death Eaters with. I admit to being a bit surprised that he wasn't more demanding about, at the very least, making sure the others were still whole, but Carmilla suggested that one of her childes told him he needed to play nice around me, so that's likely got something to do with it." 

Sirius shook his head. "Or he thinks he'll know if one of them is destroyed." 

Harry snorted and turned towards the stairs. "He won't," he reported before going up to his room. _'Though,'_ he admitted to himself, _'if my collecting them is healing his soul a bit, it's possible, I must suppose, that he would notice the destruction of one.'_

Well, it hardly mattered; when Harry acted, Riddle wouldn't have a chance to do anything about it before he was dead. 

-0-

Riddle didn't attend the September meeting, but he did show up in October in time to watch Harry rip out the heart of a vampire who had decided to challenge him, insisting his use of doorways to other realms and wizarding magic to kill dissenters was indicative of a weak leader. Harry had decided that turning his right hand into a claw and yanking the man's heart out through his back was the proper response. 

"Are these meetings always this much fun?" Riddle was asking as Harry returned to the bar, observing the undead heart in his hand. 

"Only when some fool thinks him or herself a match for the Alpha Lord," Carmilla replied before raising an eyebrow at Harry. "What is so of interest that you must remain so dirtied?" 

"Hm?" Harry glanced down at the blood covering his robes, then looked up and raised an eyebrow at her. "Don't even start with me, Countess. You're just jealous I won't let you lick it off." 

Carmilla let out a sniff and looked away. "How uncouth." 

Harry chuckled and motioned to wandlessly conjure a box to store the heart in, then held his bloodied hand out to her. "Go on, then." While she set about licking blood off his hand, giving up on pretence, Harry turned to Riddle and flashed him a smile. "Hello again, Tom." 

Riddle let out an irritated hiss. " _Must_ you, Potter?" 

"It amuses me," Harry replied with a shrug. "Anyway, you have an irritating habit of referring to me by a name that I don't, actually, make common knowledge around here." 

Riddle scowled. "Is that your less-than-subtle way of saying you will cease with your use of my birth name if I cease in my use of your last name?" 

Harry waved his free hand at Riddle. "I can promise not to use 'Tom', but it's actually super difficult to think of you as 'Voldemort' when you look like that, so I can't promise I won't slip and call you 'Mr Riddle'." He rolled his eyes. "Anyway, you really do need to get over this complex of yours. So your father was a mu–"

Riddle covered Harry's mouth with a hiss. " _Don't_ ," he ordered. 

Harry sighed and waited until Riddle moved away before saying, " _Complex_."

Riddle hissed out some rather unflattering comments about Harry's parentage, and Harry would have responded, but it occurred to him that he'd not been able to understand Parseltongue when he'd found a snake in the garden of the Burrow the year before, and yet he was understanding Riddle perfectly, could even tell for certain it was Parseltongue. _'Death?'_ he requested mentally. 

_"Master."_

_'How can I suddenly understand Parseltongue?'_

_"Death transcends all language, Master, and you have, again, mastered me."_

_'You are being deliberately coy, Death,'_ Harry complained, because that didn't really answer anything. 

Death cackled, the sound echoing obnoxiously enough inside Harry's mind that he winced. _"Consider it a gift, Master."_

_'Ah. My most humble thanks, then,'_ Harry decided. Though... _'Not the runic book?'_

_"You would be cross with me, would you not, were I to simply hand you that answer."_

Harry let out a chuckle and shook his head. _'True enough,'_ he agreed. 

"Alpha Lord?" Carmilla asked, bringing Harry out of his mind. "Are you well?" 

Harry blinked, then grimaced when he realised he'd chuckled out loud. "Ah. Yes, fine. Sorry, had a thought." He glanced to see that his hand was clean, flashed her a fond smile, then used the Elder Wand to clean his robes and any blood that had marked his face. Another spell saw the bar top and the outside of his new box cleaned as well. 

"Why keep the heart?" Carmilla enquired, eyeing the box curiously. 

Harry shrugged and picked the box up. "There's a ritual I was vaguely interested in performing that requires a relatively fresh heart. I don't remember the book saying it couldn't be a vampire's heart, but I'll look it back over." 

"What is this ritual, P– Harry?" Riddle asked, lips thinning at his slip. 

"Oh, I doubt you know it," Harry said, waving a negligent hand. "Bit obscure." 

"I specialised in obscure rituals, boy." 

Carmilla let out an irritated sound. "Take care, Dark Lord, how you refer to the Alpha Lord." 

Harry sighed and offered Riddle a helpless look. "It's your tone, more than the term," he commented, because older werewolves calling him 'pup' never bothered her, and it meant the same thing as 'boy', essentially. "As for the ritual, there's only one copy of it, and I have it." 

Riddle looked torn for a moment before he said, voice stiff, "I don't expect you'll share it." 

Harry considered that for a moment, then grinned. "I doubt it'll do you any good, but I might as well look up the ritual while I'm thinking of it. Kreacher?" As soon as the house-elf appeared on the bar, and before one of the Bloody Eyetooth house-elves could complain about him trying to steal their recipes or whatever rot, Harry requested, "I need Death's book." 

Kreacher vanished with a nod. 

"Death's book?" Riddle asked while Carmilla let out a quiet sound of displeasure. 

The book appeared in front of Harry, very carefully set to the side of the box with the heart. "Excellent. Thank you, Kreacher." 

"That's one of Abraxas' books," Riddle said, frowning. 

Harry snorted. "And now it's mine. I, ah, _liberated_ it with another book Lucius had in his study that I wanted. You know the one, I expect." 

"You have a habit of stealing people's things and calling them yours," Riddle informed him with a scowl. 

Harry rolled his eyes and opened the book to the page with the ritual he wanted. It would speed up his ageing, stealing the life energy from the heart to power the ritual without causing a constant drain on the caster. Humans would probably question his unexpected physical maturity when he started Hogwarts, but he was tired of trying to lead the non-humans while he was a child. There weren't any warnings about using a vampire heart – that he saw – so he figured he was in the clear. 

"Yes, I expect you _would_ like that ritual," Riddle scoffed. 

Harry stared at him for a moment, disbelieving, then jabbed his finger at the pages opened in front of him. "You can read this?" 

Riddle sneered. "Of course I can." 

"Death!" Harry called, because that was naturally his reaction to finding out that Riddle could read a book that no one but Harry himself was supposed to be able to read. 

"I should have foreseen that," Death commented from behind Harry, close enough that his scythe was curved over Harry's shoulder, glinting out of the corner of his eye. 

Carmilla gave up all pretence and left her stool for a nearby table of discomfited vampires. Riddle looked, Harry saw as he turned towards Death, torn between wanting to escape and wanting to know what had disturbed Harry so much. 

Death tapped Harry's chest, the click of bone against the Stone muted by the fabric of his robe. "His soul is in direct contact with a Hallow. It would make sense that he would absorb the knowledge necessary need to use my magic." 

Harry tilted his head to one side. "Huh. Now, why did neither of us think about that sooner?" 

Death shrugged. "Other concerns, I expect." 

"True enough," Harry agreed with a shrug of his own. "It hardly matters, I suppose. Thank you, Death." 

Death cupped his cheek for a moment before fading away. 

As Harry turned back to his book, Death's voice echoed in his head: _"I would suggest against using a vampire heart, Master. A young human is far to your preference."_

He nodded a bit absently and waved the Elder Wand at the box with the heart, vanishing it. 

"Po– _Harry_ ," Riddle snarled grabbing his shoulder tight enough that a human child would have bruised. 

An angry growl rose up behind them and Harry cocked an eyebrow at the Dark Lord. "I would let go if you don't want to be mauled," he suggested. Riddle immediately let go, snatching his hand back, and Harry glanced over his shoulder with a fond smile, silencing the growling. 

When Harry conjured a quill to make a notation in the book about a child's heart being the best option, Riddle hissed, "What was he talking about? What's wrong with my ring?" 

"Nothing that you, yourself, didn't do to it," Harry replied with a shrug. "I assume you're familiar with _The Tale of the Three Brothers_."

Riddle scoffed. "Fairy stories." 

Harry raised an eyebrow at him. "You've _met_ Death, Riddle. And you and I are both related to one of the brothers; you to Cadmus, I to Ignotus." 

Riddle's eyes narrowed, glinting with greed. "Give me my ring back, Potter." 

"After you _polluted_ it and abandoned it in a shack?" Harry retorted with a snort. "Not on your _life_ , Tom." 

Riddle leaned forward until he and Harry were sharing the same air. "I will see you dead one day, you little wretch." 

Harry smiled, teeth sharp, eyes shining gold in their reflection in Riddle's own eyes. "I'd say I welcome the challenge, but I expect it will serve a most unsatisfactory attempt on my life. All the same, you're welcome to try. Perhaps I'll bite you and watch you become doubly dirtied, as according to your creed." 

Riddle's eyes flashed crimson for a moment before he shoved away from the bar and stormed from the pub, evidentially not so far lost in his anger that he forgot how dangerous it would be to actually attempt violence on Harry in front of a room full of non-humans who called him lord. 

"Ah," Harry murmured with a note of regret, "more's the pity." 

"You're playing with fire there, my Lord," Carmilla warned quietly as she slipped back onto her stool. 

"Oh, I know," Harry agreed cheerfully. "To his shame, however, Voldemort's bark is far worse than his bite." 

"I wouldn't be too sure about that." 

Harry smiled at her and reached up to brush his knuckles against her cheek. "Your concern is appreciated, my Lady, but ultimately unnecessary. Are you, yourself, not fond of saying that people should stop underestimating me?" 

"There is more than one Lord with great power in this world, Alpha Lord, who one should take care not to underestimate." 

Harry hummed a vague agreement and flipped through rituals until a group of vampires stepped into the pub, intent on speaking with him. 

-0-

Riddle was absent during both the November and December new moons. Harry rolled his eyes and muttered about children to himself, then crafted a figure of Voldemort, as he'd been during the first war, holding a golden platter on which rested Dumbledore's head and sent it to Kenric Nott to pass on – with the Alpha Lord's regards – for Riddle's birthday. 

"P–Harry," Riddle said as he slipped onto the open chair at Harry's side during January's new moon. 

Harry ignored him while he finished listening to the Forbidden Forest air sprite who had nearly killed herself trying to get to Knockturn Alley in time for the new moon. She was friends with a couple of tree sprites who had been having some trouble with the acromantula, which had decided to expand their nest to include their trees. Appeals to Hagrid hadn't gone far, so she'd decided to try the only other person who she thought might be able to do something for them. 

"I make no promises, but I'll talk to them," Harry offered with a grimace. "Regretfully, Hagrid may be right about there being nothing that can be done to keep them from spreading, but I may be able to move the endangered trees far enough away that they should be safe." Or just kill off all the acromantula; of all of those non-humans who fell under his purview, the giant spiders would always be his least favourite. The only reason he was considering handling the matter with limited violence was his fondness for Hagrid. 

The sprite bowed her head. "That is more than the half-giant would promise, my Lord. Thank you." 

Harry nodded and looked towards the fireplace, where a few werewolves were lined up to use the floo. All of them were regulars – those who'd come to ask Harry something usually stopped coming around dinnertime, especially in the winter, when the vampires came out earlier – so he was familiar enough with each of their schedules and personalities to know who would be best willing to handle his request. "Meghan! Can you make a run through Hogsmeade for me?" 

The werewolf in question looked up, black eyes curious. "Certainly, Alpha. What do you need me to do?" 

Harry jumped off his stool and walked over, the sprite held protectively in his cupped hands. "Let Moria off there, so she doesn't have to fly back all the way on her own," he explained. 

The sprite let out a broken sob and hugged Harry's thumb. " _Thank you_ , Alpha Lord," she whispered, so quietly a human wouldn't have been able to hear her. 

Meghan grinned, as fond as most of the non-humans were of Harry's kindness. "Of course, Alpha. Come along, Moria." She held out her hands for the sprite. 

"I'll come out sometime this week," Harry promised as the sprite traded hands. "Thank you, Meghan." 

"It's no problem, Alpha," Meghan insisted before taking her turn at the floo. 

Harry returned to the bar and snatched one of the biscuits off the plate that had appeared in front of Riddle – clearly, Harry wasn't the only one who'd developed an addiction to them – then grinned at the Dark Lord's irritated look. "Welcome back, Voldemort. Did you enjoy your birthday present?" 

"Oh? You're doing birthday presents now?" Carmilla wondered, looking over from where she'd been watching Edmund mix some sort of concoction for a young vampire which included at least four different muggle spirits, butterbeer, and what smelt suspiciously like a blood supplement potion. (Harry'd decided pretty early on that he was better off not asking. Ever.) 

"Only for people under seventy," Harry returned easily around his stolen biscuit, not even caring that it was impolite. 

Riddle snorted. "It was worth a laugh, though I believe young Theodore is scarred for life." 

"Oh? From hearing the nightmare-inducing Dark Lord laugh like a normal human?" Harry wondered and Riddle let out a cackle. Harry chuckled himself and stole another biscuit while Riddle wasn't paying attention. "I'm sure he'll get over it before he actually has to see Dumbledore every day, assuming you don't get tired of playing hermit and end the old fool before Theodore and I start Hogwarts." 

Riddle raised an eyebrow at him. "You were intending to attend?" 

Harry shrugged. "My guardians are insisting, something about it being the 'thing to do', I think." Which was actually true, and a fairly constant debate in their house, because Harry knew everything already and Hogwarts would get in the way of his Alpha Lord duties but, when it came down to it, they all knew the magical humans would freak if he wasn't on the train when he was expected to be. He snapped his fingers, mind jumping to a related topic that he'd meant to bring up with Riddle earlier. "Actually, speaking of Hogwarts, if you have a way to keep Snape from knowing you're about, it would be to your benefit. He rather sold his soul to Dumbledore in return for skipping Azkaban." 

Riddle scowled. "Severus is far too anti-muggle to dance to the old fool's tune." 

"Be that as it may, you killed the woman he loved," Harry replied, pointing to himself. "And while you and I know you offered to spare her – multiple times, actually, which was really quite kind of you – Snape doesn't. And since you'd never tell him so, and he'd never believe me if _I_ told him, he's playing traitor." Harry tapped his chin while Riddle hissed unpleasant things under his breath. "I don't foresee him being a problem for long, admittedly; as soon as he pisses me off, I'll arrange an 'accident' for him. And I don't expect it to take him long to piss me off." 

"Short temper, Harry?" Riddle asked in a faux sweet voice. 

Harry snorted. "Not hardly. But he hates both of my guardians. Given that Remus isn't an out werewolf, that would be a rather sensible line of attack, don't you expect? Drop a few hints the first class and watch the smart kids scramble for the answer just to prove themselves. The way the Hogwarts rumour mill moves, the entire school will know by the end of the day, and the _Prophet_ will be announcing it by the beginning of the next week." 

Riddle waved a biscuit at Harry, unknowingly tempting Harry to snatch it away just to prove he could. "Well, then. It seems I can simply twiddle my thumbs for a few years and let you deal with my little spy problem on your own." 

Harry rolled his eyes, distracting his hands with his mostly empty butterbeer bottle. "Lovely. And your continuous play at being a hermit?" 

Riddle considered that for a moment, then shrugged. "I suppose it's about time I started my people moving towards my intended goals. Any of my other former followers you believe will prove difficult?" 

Harry thought back to his memories of another war in another reality. "Karkaroff will run when you call him," he murmured, and Riddle let out a sound that suggested he already knew that. "His current position, however, makes him valuable. If you can get someone into Durmstrang to keep an eye on him, it may be worth keeping his traitorous hide attached to his bones and in one piece." 

Riddle nodded, eyes distant. After a moment, he said, "Durmstrang has been known to count non-humans among their staff, though they won't accept them as students. If we clear a position, can you fill it?" 

Harry glanced over the room behind them, but the person he had in mind had already left. "Likely, but let me check for certain. It can wait for the moment, I expect." 

"I have no interest in setting off anyone's Dark Mark at the moment if I've got two traitors waiting for the sign," Riddle growled, voice gone low and cold. 

Harry snorted, mentally shifting gears to the last of the issues that had found followers defecting in that other reality: "I know you devalue the importance of familial bonds, but your followers will _not_. Those with children will wish to keep them safe, and may not approve of them wishing to join you once they are of age." 

Riddle let out a disgusted hiss. "What cowardice is this?" 

Harry eyed him with amusement. "Riddle, you went shopping for Slytherins, and are honestly surprised when some of them decide to put the survival of their progeny above your agenda? If you were looking for unfailing loyalty, you should have drafted Hufflepuffs." 

"Regretfully," Riddle bit out, "you have a point." He rubbed angrily at his eyes. "That is manageable, now I am aware it may prove problematic. Any other wisdom?" 

Harry shrugged. "I doubt either of us needs me involving myself with your Death Eaters, given my age and identity, but it will behove you to warn them that you are allies with the Alpha Lord and that I don't take well to hearing about humans abusing my people." He flashed Riddle a too-sharp smile. "Incidentally, house-elves fall under my purview." 

Riddle grimaced, likely as aware as Harry about how little most purebloods thought of house-elves and how poorly they treated them. "I shall take that under advisement and pass it on." 

Harry snorted. "If someone's a house-elf that's giving them trouble, I can find an alternate home for it. Likewise, if any non-human is causing difficulty, let me know and I will handle them myself." 

Riddle nodded and stood. "Was there anything else?" 

Harry considered that for a moment, then shook his head. "Not that I can think of. If you need me for anything between new moons, send me an owl. So long as you don't attach any curses, it'll get through the wards." 

"Very well," he agreed and left through the door out to the street. 

"You know," Harry said as he grabbed the last biscuit off Riddle's abandoned plate, "I do think I like it better when he doesn't stalk off in a huff." 

Carmilla sighed and kissed his cheek. "Perhaps then, Alpha Lord, you should avoid giving him reason to do so in future." 

Harry offered her a helpless smile. "Ah. Yes, I suppose that would help, wouldn't it?" 

"Generally." 

-0-

By the beginning of April, Riddle had contacted all of those Death Eaters he decided were useful at the moment and had them working through the Ministry at their leisure. The werelion Harry'd had in mind to take a position at Durmstrang finished with her current batch of students just before the full moon, so Harry invited her and Riddle to join him at Bloody Eyetooth the afternoon of the fourth so they could sort out Durmstrang. 

The werelion arrived first, her eyes sharp and glinting gold from the recent full moon. "Alpha Lord," she greeted coolly. 

Harry didn't take offence, already familiar with her unfriendly nature. "Hello, Erica. Thank you for coming. How was your moon?" 

Erica's nose twitched. "Uneventful, as one might hope." 

"And your former students?" 

"One of my kits, as well you should know, intends to take up residence in one of your way houses. The other will remain with the pride for the time being." She let out a faint growl. "May we cease with the small talk?" 

Harry held up his hands in surrender, offering her a soothing smile. It never seemed to work on Erica, but he always tried anyway. 

Riddle finally breezed in, looking strained. "How do you always manage to play nice, Po– Harry?" 

"It's far more natural for me," Harry offered with a shrug as he motioned for them to follow and led the way up to the warded rooms on the first floor. "Though I admit to some surprise that you're even _trying_."

"I know better than to irritate werewolves so soon after the full moon," Riddle returned. 

"It is so to your sorrow that our Alpha Lord is ever of the moon's temperament," Erica commented, gold-flecked eyes glinting. 

"You suggest your moon makes you all childish, then?" 

"Merlin protect me from suicidal fools!" Harry complained, barely stopping long enough to activate the wards on the room before he got between them. "You," he said to Riddle, "were _just_ saying you knew better than to irritate werefolk so soon after the moon. And _you_ ," he added, turning a narrowed gaze on Erica, "sit down and fucking _behave_."

Erica's jaw clenched even as she tilted her head up and to the side, showing her surrender by baring her throat before walking over and taking a seat at the table. 

When Harry turned back to Riddle, the Dark Lord sneered at him, but obediently took a seat at the table himself. 

Harry took a moment to rub tiredly at the bridge of his nose, then took his own seat. "Voldemort, this is Erica Pride, a werelion and one of the most sought after tutors amongst werefolk." The two traded jerky nods and Harry resisted the urge to curse them both. "Erica, as I told you in February, we need you to serve at Durmstrang for a while. The current headmaster, Igor Karkaroff, is one of Voldemort's marked followers, but he turned traitor at the end of the war in exchange for his freedom. His current position is useful to Voldemort and myself, but we need someone we trust keeping him in check." 

"With respect, Alpha Lord, I do not believe the Dark Lord trusts me," Erica pointed out stiffly. 

"But _I do_ ," Harry insisted and she turned a surprised look on him. He smiled at her, then glanced at Riddle, whose neutral expression seemed a little strained. "Voldemort is trusting my judgement in this." Riddle gave a jerky nod, not _pleased_ about having to trust Harry and his people, but aware that he didn't have much choice, as none of his own people were teacher material. Even Snape would have been better served looking into another position, had Dumbledore not tied him down with the stated intention of making him protect Harry when he became a student. (Not that Harry ever intended to tell Riddle that part.) 

"And full moons?" Erica requested, her manner easing some. 

"Countess Sanguina assures me there is a coven headed by one of her childes which shares some land with Durmstrang. They will be able to provide aid at night, should you need it, and they have access to a floo node that will allow you to return to your pride for the moon. Countess Sanguina herself has promised to take your place the night of the moon and keep an eye on Karkaroff." 

Erica flashed him a toothy smile, as familiar – if not more so – as Harry with Carmilla's eccentricities. "Sanguina's agreeing to play sitter? I do hope the female students are dispensable." 

Harry rolled his eyes. "You let me worry about my Lady's appetites, Erica. You just worry about keeping Karkaroff in the castle and ensure he keeps on task if Voldemort gives him any orders. A copy of which will also be given to you, so you know if he's to be doing anything." 

"What sorts of orders?" Erica demanded, looking at Riddle. 

"Nothing more stressful than 'ensure this student shares our ambitions', I expect," Riddle reported with a wave of his hand that was probably intended to look careless, but his wrist was held a little too stiffly to pull it off. "If a student or member of the staff becomes a complication, there may be a kill-order sent. Depending on the politics surrounding the complication, the orders may be for Karkaroff, or they may be for yourself and the vampire coven to handle. In the case of the latter, those orders will go through Harry." 

"Essentially," Harry agreed. 

"So copied orders will come from the Dark Lord, orders for myself will come through my Lord," Erica clarified. 

"Yes." 

She nodded and looked down to pick at her nails. "When do I start?" 

"As soon as we finish dealing with the current Charms professor," Riddle replied as he stood. "Po– Harry, were you coming?" 

Harry shrugged. "Of course." 

"I intend to apparate. Will I be side-alonging you–"

"I'm capable of apparation," Harry interrupted drily. 

Riddle stared at him for a long moment before snapping, "You're _seven_!"

Erica cackled as she stood herself. "Have you not learnt yet, Dark Lord, to never underestimate the Alpha Lord?" 

" _Seven_ ," Riddle insisted, apparently unable to move past this fact, while Harry disengaged the wards. 

Once Shrill had been called to take the room key, they all apparated to the small town outside the Durmstrang wards. Riddle shook his head at Harry once they'd all arrived in one piece and Harry flashed him a toothy smile before pulling out his Cloak and sweeping it around himself. 

"Of _course_ you have all three," Riddle muttered as he cast a Point me to find the professor in question. 

The murder of the man was clean, Riddle casting the Killing Curse as soon as they were away from any witnesses. From there, it was but a short walk to Karkaroff's office. The man didn't recognise Riddle, of course, but an application of Cruciatus was apparently proof-positive, and a shaking Karkaroff hired Erica on the spot. 

"Was there a reason for your presence?" Riddle asked as they left the school grounds and Harry pulled off his Cloak. 

"Beyond reassuring Erica that this entire production had my stamp of approval?" Harry returned somewhat jokingly. Riddle sneered at him and Harry rolled his eyes before explaining, "I wanted to get Karkaroff's scent, so if we have to manage a manhunt for him, I can find him if he happens to be smart enough to hide his magical signature." 

Riddle slowed to a stop next to a boulder resting against the side of the path and leant back against it. "Not a bad point," he decided before shaking his head and shooting Harry an irritated look. "I am not continuing to call you by your first name, Potter." 

"I accept 'Alpha Lord'," Harry pointed out cheerfully. 

"I will push you off the side of this mountain," Riddle threatened, though he didn't even tense to move, as aware as Harry that his words were empty. 

Harry rolled his eyes. "Egotist," he muttered before offering, "My guardians dubbed me 'Sol Eyes', for the fact that my eyes turn gold when I lose my temper, no matter the strength of the moon." 

"Sol as in sun?" Riddle clarified, looking thoughtful. 

"Mm-hm." 

Riddle nodded. "Lord Sol, then." 

Harry snorted. "As you please. Just so long as you're not going around giving away who I am." He motioned to summon a doorway to the Realm of Death, far preferring that mode of travel to apparation. "If there was nothing else?" 

"No." 

"Then I will see you at the moon's dark," Harry offered before leaving to handle a dispute in southern France; the days following the full moon had a bad habit of being busy with cleaning up pack reshuffling that occurred while werewolves were slaves to their animal selves.

.


	9. Eight – International Acclaim

"So, today," Sirius started before taking a pause to take a bite of the lasagne Pinky had just brought out for them. 

Harry and Remus traded raised eyebrows and Harry mouthed 'Here we go', earning a grin from Remus. 

"I saw that," Sirius informed them, waving his fork between them. 

"So today, Padfoot?" Remus asked, expression one of polite interest. 

Sirius shot him a suspicious look. "Today, I took a wander down to the fifth level–"

Harry raised an eyebrow, but resisted the urge to comment by taking a bite of lasagne. 

"–and who should I happen to see talking to the French and Italian International Confederation aides, but Dalbert Avery and Lucius Malfoy." 

Harry set his fork down. "Indeed? I wonder what has them so far from their usual haunts." 

"Could he be recruiting abroad?" Remus asked, one hand held politely in front of his mouth to hide that he hadn't completely swallowed. 

"It's possible," Harry agreed with a frown, mind running over every interaction he'd had with Riddle. "He did suggest he was hoping to get Karkaroff to turn some of the currently graduating Durmstrang class towards his ideals, especially those looking for positions in the various European governments." 

"Taking over multiple ministries all at once?" Remus murmured, gaze distant. 

"It's not a bad strategy," Sirius admitted, looking like the words hurt. "With the current tensions between the muggles over their Cold War and the unrest in the Middle East, no one's going to notice a bit of minor magical governmental shuffling until it's too late." 

"And you know the Soviets aren't going to help after they got burned by Grindelwald," Remus agreed. "They'll keep America in check just to prove they can." 

"America wouldn't come anyway," Sirius insisted. "The magical population is as terrified of starting a war with the Soviet Union as the muggle. I mean, they're refusing to attend any meetings of the International Confederation of Wizards held any closer to the Soviet Union's borders than _Portugal_ , and even that's pushing it."

Remus sighed. 

Harry scratched his cheek. "I've made no secret of the fact that my interests are global. His attempts in the other reality were very United Kingdom specific, but global politics were a bit different in the nineties, and he didn't have the promise of the assistance of all non-humans the world over." 

"You said he didn't have any power in Durmstrang then, either, since Karkaroff ran for it," Sirius added. 

Harry snorted. "Voldemort never would have let Karkaroff live, not then. Honestly, I'm not sure he was going to this time, but I pointed out he could be useful." 

"An international take-over now will help us later," Remus decided with a shrug. "His human forces will be even more stretched, especially if he's depending on non-humans for muscle." 

"Brutal, Moony," Sirius commented, but his grin was edging on bloodthirsty; the deaths of Lily and James might still be a sore point, but he was wholly behind Harry's plan to let Voldemort take down the Ministry, then come in behind him and destroy the humans while they were still floundering in the upheaval. 

Harry picked his fork back up. "Sirius, how difficult would it be to buy a couple of houses in other European countries?" 

"New way houses for the werefolk?" Remus guessed. 

Harry nodded. "If he's planning international, we should look into spreading our forces out a bit more, play along." 

"It shouldn't be too hard," Sirius decided. "I'll drop by the fifth floor again this week, ask about international properties. If anyone asks, I'll say you were asking about seeing the world a bit before you start Hogwarts. Bring back some culture." 

"Oh, the Ministry's gonna _love_ that," Harry muttered, well aware of how the British Ministry was stuck in the 'We're the best because Merlin and Hogwarts' mentality. 

"Albus will actually appreciate it, though," Remus commented. "However, if he's got wind of the Death Eaters sniffing about international affairs, it might make him a bit nervous." 

"Well, so Harry said he was curious, I saw Lucius when I got off the wrong level looking for travel information, and thought it might be a better plan to get a house or two, since we have the money, and then ward them to hell and back," Sirius decided with a shrug. "Safe travelling for Harry, all thanks to Death Eaters acting suspicious."

"Moments like this," Harry muttered as he returned his focus to his food, "I understand how the four of you got away with so much while you were in school." 

Sirius' responding grin was enough to make a normal person want to piss their pants. 

-0-

"You realise," Harry said when Riddle sat down next to him, "that your Death Eaters are a bit notable." 

Riddle sighed, looking briefly tired before he straightened and put on an irritated look. "And what, exactly, is _that_ supposed to mean, Sol?" 

Harry took a moment to get past how easily the bastardised version of his Marauder name slipped off Riddle's tongue, but he finally shook it away when Riddle let out an angry noise. "Sirius mentioned seeing Avery and Malfoy in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, talking to a couple of Confederation aids, and Arthur Weasley commented on seeing Malfoy laughing with Fudge and the French Minister." 

"And?" Riddle demanded. "Black already knows I'm back, what do I care if he and some blood traitor in a dead end position with more kids than he can feed have seen a couple of my people talking to foreigners?" 

Harry raised both eyebrows at him. "Dumbledore knows you're not dead. Eventually, he's going to be suspicious." 

Riddle let out an angry sound and leant in close. "And what am I supposed to do to avoid his all-seeing gaze, P–Sol? Anyone even _vaguely_ connected to me is going to be obvious, too much in the public eye to skirt the papers. Political manoeuvring is not something meant for the shadows, not that I'd expect a _child_ to know that." 

Harry considered that, casting his mind back to every time Hermione dragged him out to speak publicly about werewolves, every time he had to be loud to catch the attention of others. "Hm. Perhaps I am simply too trapped by my curse; it is surprisingly difficult to overcome the need for secrecy." 

Riddle sighed, deflating some, and grabbed a biscuit off Harry's plate, as it was so busy that neither Bipdey nor Shrill had appeared with the plate of biscuits they usually brought the Dark Lord shortly after he arrived. "It is true," he admitted, "that some deeds are best left to the shadows in this little play we have begun, but those are not things someone so well established as Lucius or Dalbert can do. Being seen in public, trading polite words over a dinner everyone knows was to occur...those are the skills Lucius and Dalbert possess. Other things, like threatening in the shadows to make the play go smoothly, those are meant for my people who avoid the public light: Amycus and Alecto, Walden–"

Harry couldn't help the snarl he let slip at the mention of Walden Macnair, the British Ministry's non-human executioner. 

Riddle watched him for a long moment before shaking his head. "Come now, Sol. He's hardly the only of my Death Eaters to enjoy killing people." 

"It is not his _enjoyment_ of murder that angers me, Voldemort, but that it is _my people_ that he is killing." 

"Non-humans you've never met–"

"It doesn't _matter_!" Harry roared and the entire pub fell silent. He pressed his eyes closed and rubbed at the corners of his eyes. "It doesn't matter," he continued quietly, "who they are or whether I've met them or not. _These are my people._ " He opened his eyes and met Riddle's faintly nervous gaze. "I know you've never had anyone worth protecting, Voldemort, so you can't possibly understand, but this– These people–" he waved at the silent room "–they are mine. I swore to protect them from humans. Every time one is hurt, every time one dies, _I have **failed**._ And even you can understand, I think, how it feels to fail at the single most important task you have ever been given." 

Harry stood, then, pushing away from his stool and the bar, and stepped directly into the Realm of Death, the doorway opening without him needing to call it. He stood there for a moment after the doorway had closed behind him, forcing himself to breathe through the ache of every report of failure, of every black shadow he'd come across in this realm that he'd _known_ was one of his, their destiny tied to his even in death. 

"Master," Death murmured, appearing at his side, "perhaps you should take a holiday, just this once." 

"Just this once," Harry agreed and turned towards the Forbidden Forest, where he could run in wolf form without fear of coming across any humans or Dark Lords who didn't understand what it meant to give your _everything_ to a people. 

-0-

No mention of Harry's outburst and subsequent fleeing was made during the next dark moon, nor the one after. Honestly, Harry figured it had been completely brushed under the figurative rug, forgotten save for fitting one more piece into the puzzle of Harry Potter, Alpha Lord that Harry didn't once doubt Riddle was working on. 

For the second half of May, Sirius took Harry and Remus down to Greece, where they toured the ruins during the day and met with the local non-humans during the nights. They returned home for the blue moon, then went to Spain for the first half of June. They got back in time for Harry to run to Bloody Eyetooth on the fourteenth, making it about an hour before sunset. 

"Been doing much travelling, Sol?" Riddle asked as he passed an unopened butterbeer over when Harry sat down. 

"It's nice to get out of the United Kingdom and not be going to settle a coven or pack dispute," Harry admitted with a grateful smile. Before he could take a drink of his butterbeer, however, fire blazed just behind him and he turned to find a familiar phoenix. "Fawkes?" 

" _Fuck_ ," Riddle hissed before apparating away without a by-your-leave. 

Harry blinked a few times, trapped somewhere between confusion at the phoenix's sudden arrival and amusement at hearing Riddle actually drop a curse as unrefined as 'fuck'. 

Fawkes ducked his head in a bow, then let out a trill, followed by a series of chirps and a warble. To Harry, it became words: _"Greetings, Alpha Lord. I came to give you warning; my familiar intends to visit your home, as he is aware you have returned from abroad."_

Harry's eyes went wide. "Right. Good. Thanks, Fawkes. Richard!" he called as the phoenix left in another flash of fire. 

"Alpha?" the barman asked, expression worried. 

"I need to attend to another matter. I'll be back once it's seen to, but I don't know how long it will take. If someone has an issue that absolutely needs my attention tonight and they can't wait, have them leave a note with yourself or, when she arrives, Countess Sanguina, and I'll see to it at dawn, if not before." 

Richard inclined his head. "I understand, Alpha." 

Harry flashed him a fond smile, then followed Riddle's example and apparated from his seat, landing close enough to home that it was only a few steps through the Realm of Death to reach his room. (Were it not for the fact that apparation made noise, he'd have just gone straight to his room in that manner. As it was, using both methods worked well enough.) 

Sirius and Remus were talking downstairs; a deep breath turned up no further scents, and Harry smiled to himself in victory before he quickly set about hiding the Elder Wand and Resurrection Stone in the back of his wardrobe, on top of the box holding the diadem. Of all the things that shouldn't be in the house, those two items were the ones Dumbledore would be most likely to recognise, and Harry wanted to take no chances, not when he'd no idea why Dumbledore was paying a visit. 

Remus met him at the bottom of the stairs, wearing a worried frown. "Harry? Is something–"

A 'ding' echoed through the house, the signal that someone had come in through the floo. 

Harry smiled at his guardian. "It seems," he said cheerfully, "that we have a guest. Does this mean I don't have to go to bed quite yet?" 

Remus' lips twitched, because he and Sirius had long ago figured out that decreeing a bedtime was rather pointless when their charge could glare Remus into backing off and slip right past any traps Sirius left for him. "It depends on who it is," he replied, playing along. 

"Albus!" Sirius called, a note of strain under the cover of pleasure in his voice. 

"Hello, Sirius. I do hope it's not too late to call on you," Dumbledore offered as Harry and Remus made their way into the dining room. 

"Not too late," Remus offered politely while Harry peered around him like a curious child, "but Harry's bedtime is in an hour, so it'll have to be a short visit." 

Sirius turned to look at them over his shoulder and, upon seeing Harry's curious smile, shrugged and stepped back to let Dumbledore out of the receiving room. "What Remus said; Harry's sleep schedule has been ruined enough by sleeping in new houses." 

"Not to mention time zones," Remus muttered, because instant travel made that particular global quirk far worse than travelling the muggle way. (At least according to another Hermione, who had done both and declared that, while jetlag was hell, there was a sort of loss and sense of disorientation that one felt in immediately changing time zones, especially if one went from a place where the sun had already risen to where they had a couple hours still before daylight.) 

Dumbledore chuckled in a manner that suggested he knew exactly what Remus meant, then bowed forward so his eyes were on level with Harry's. "Hello again, Harry. I don't know if you remember me–"

"You were with Sirius and the blond man, the ones who saved me from Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon," Harry agreed, tilting his head to one side. 

"I am indeed. You have an excellent memory." 

Harry pointed towards Sirius. "Gotta remember Padfoot's pranks or he'll get me _twice_."

All the adults laughed, Sirius and Remus sounding a little bit strained. 

"You never really change," Dumbledore told Sirius with an amused smile before looking back to Harry. "I realise we weren't introduced last time, Harry; I'm Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." 

"I know," Harry returned with a knowing smile. "I've got your card." He made a face while Dumbledore's eyes lit up at the mention of his chocolate frog card. "I dunno what's so great about _chamber music_ though." 

Dumbledore chuckled. "Have you ever been to a concert, my boy?" 

Harry shook his head because, honestly, no. He'd heard plenty of classical music on the wireless, and the wizarding wireless had always played a couple of songs recorded live in a traditional chamber music setting to mark the anniversary of Dumbledore's death in that other reality, but Harry'd never gone to any music performances, save for the Yule Ball and a couple Ministry functions. Nothing that one could ever call comfortable. 

"Perhaps, if you're particularly good, Sirius or Remus will take you to hear it some time. Music, you will find, is always best heard in person, rather than over the wireless." 

Harry shrugged, not really caring and pretty certain, besides, that Sirius would rather pull a Wormtail and cut off his own hand than go and listen to a chamber orchestra. Remus might, but only if Harry insisted. 

Dumbledore chuckled and straightened. "I'm afraid I'm not as young as I used to be, and standing around gets rather wearying after a bit," he hinted cheerfully. 

"Oh, of course!" Remus motioned for Dumbledore to follow him as he turned and pushed Harry towards the living room. 

Harry settled on the floor, back to the couch, and Sirius and Remus settled on either side of him, Sirius ruffling Harry's hair. Dumbledore sat in the plush chair across from the couch that Remus always curled up in when he was reading. 

"Not to be impolite, but what did you need, Albus?" Sirius asked as soon as they were all settled, Harry leaning against Sirius' leg as though he was tired, though the potion he took to stay up all night on the new moons wouldn't let him tire for hours yet. 

"I was wondering, since you're at the Ministry so often, Sirius, if you've noticed any interesting activity from the...less-than-polite members of society?" Dumbledore asked, eyes flicking down towards Harry as he carefully worded his question. 

"Lucius, you mean," Sirius guessed, his distaste for his cousin's husband obvious in his voice. "Nothing really beyond his usual slimy tactics. Kissing up to anyone Fudge shows the slightest interest in, snubbing anyone he dislikes." 

"I suspect, rather, that it's the other way around," Dumbledore remarked. "Lucius directs Cornelius to those he should like the Minister to prefer and away from those he'd like him to avoid." 

"If so, I doubt he has as much control of Fudge as he'd like everyone to think, or has Fudge stopped asking your advice?" Remus asked mildly. 

"No, that's true," Dumbledore agreed. "Still, Alastor came to me last week with concerns about some of the people he'd heard that Lucius and a couple of his other associates were spending time with." 

"Well, I can certainly keep an eye out when I'm back from holiday," Sirius offered. "We're off to Egypt in a couple of days until the full moon, then I'm back on the clock. I'll let you know if I notice anything that sets off alarm bells." 

Dumbledore smiled. "Thank you, Sirius. I knew I could trust you to keep your ear to the wind. Which reminds me of an international legislation currently on the table which will affect you, should it pass." 

Sirius stiffened, the muscles of his thigh going ridged against Harry. "Oh?" he replied, voice forcefully casual. 

Dumbledore nodded, expression turned grave. "There are some members of the international body who disapprove of werewolves, as well you know, and word has made it around that there's someone letting houses in England to werewolves in need. They want to pass a law that keeps werewolves from living in groups of more than two within a certain distance of humans." 

"They can't _do_ that!" Harry burst out, putting on his most broken-hearted expression to hide the absolute fury that had swept through him at the threat to his people. "What about the non-magical werewolves? They need to be close to their jobs 'cause they can't apparate or anything, right? But they can't get jobs away from the city, and the easiest way is to share a flat. And if you're gonna be sharing a flat, best to share with other werewolves, right? Because then there's no chance of anyone getting hurt if there's a fight. It's a matter of safety as much as it's a matter of survival!" 

"Harry," Remus whispered, sounding tired, "the thing is, they don't care." 

Harry climbed onto the couch and curled up next to Remus, needing the comfort of someone who understood how important pack was. 

"I and some of my allies are fighting it, but you may wish to warn your tenants," Dumbledore murmured. 

"Of course, Albus," Sirius agreed, obviously strained, and the couch shifted as he stood. "Was there anything else?" 

"No," Dumbledore agreed and the chair creaked. "I am sorry to leave you with such stressful news, my boys." 

"You just worry about fighting it on your end," Remus bit out. 

"This way," Sirius directed. 

There was a moment of silence, then a faint chime sounded, letting them know the floo had activated for an outgoing traveller. 

Harry pushed out of the couch and snarled to himself as he stalked around Remus' chair. Fury and fear battled in his chest, making him feel sick. He needed to do something about this, but he couldn't think of anything that would actually _help_. Killing the originators of the bill would just prove their allies in the confederation right about non-humans. 

Hands on his shoulders stopped his pacing, firm and warm. "Pup," Sirius called and Harry glanced up at him. "Hey. Deep breaths for a moment, Harry," he ordered. 

Harry closed his eyes and obediently took a few deep breaths, in and out, letting them calm the turmoil of his mind, calm down so he could think of solutions. 

_'The Death Eaters,'_ he realised, eyes popping open. "Oh." 

"Alpha?" Remus called, Harry's rarely-used title filled with hope. 

Harry glanced back towards him and nodded. "I need to talk to Voldemort." He looked back up at Sirius, smiling at the face he made. "Getting my people involved in this will just see it exploding in our faces, but he has humans on his side who are already influential. Hell, you've seen Lucius and Avery chatting with some of the Confederation's aides." 

Sirius' eyes lit up and he looked towards the nearest clock. "Right. Best you get back before he skips off, then." 

Harry shook his head and pulled away, reminded of another problem. Now that he could take a minute, he realised that Fawkes was, technically, non-human. There were those of his people and among humans who would debate that status with him, since Fawkes was more animal than anything else, but there was definite intelligence in phoenixes, and from what Harry had translated of his book on non-human history, _all_ magical creatures should fall under his purview, not just those who looked or spoke like humans. 

"Fawkes!" he called, wondering if it would work. He knew phoenixes could transport to any humans they were tied to when they were needed, but Harry wasn't completely certain he qualified. 

Fire flashed in mid-air and the phoenix appeared, coming to land on the arm Harry held out for him amidst Sirius and Remus' startled sounds. _"You called me, Alpha Lord?"_ Fawkes requested in his language of chirps and trills. 

Harry nodded. "Yes. I realised you're one of mine–" Sirius let out a started 'oh' next to him "–but I cannot begin to guess where your loyalty lies, given your ties to Dumbledore." 

Fawkes tilted his head to one side. _"That is a most complicated question. While I will love Albus until he dies, you are both Alpha Lord and Master of Death, twice deserving of my loyalty."_ Harry raised an eyebrow at that, but didn't ask further; Sirius and Remus' uncertain expressions suggested they couldn't understand Fawkes, and neither of them knew about his ties to Death, beyond whatever Remus may have gathered from those rare new moons he spent at Bloody Eyetooth. _"I wish to continue serving Albus, but should you demand it of me, I would betray him."_

Harry winced. "No, no, I would never ask that of you... Well, not fully. I only request that you don't tell Dumbledore what I am, nor who you may have seen with me tonight." 

Fawkes let out a titter that was clearly meant as a laugh. _"You don't want him knowing Voldemort is returned."_

"I would prefer we kept that from him for a time yet, yes." Harry sighed. "For your sake, I regret that your silence will very likely mean Dumbledore's death, but he is as much a part of the problem as the rest of humanity, so I cannot honestly regret his fate." 

Fawkes bowed his head and let out a single sad note that didn't seem to mean anything, then offered, _"He has lived a most full life. If it is to bring about happiness for those so abused, I believe he will not mind his fate."_

Harry reached up with his free hand and gently brushed a finger down Fawkes' neck. "And he'll finally be able to see Ariana again. Make up for his cruelties against her." 

Fawkes let out a startled sound, jerking back from Harry's touch. _"How do you–!?"_

Harry just smiled and turned his gaze to where there was a small writing desk in the corner. "Could you take something to Tom for me? If only for the pleasure of sending him into a panic." 

Fawkes relaxed again, letting out a faint titter of laughter. _"I can,"_ he agreed and let Harry shift him to his shoulder while he pulled out a muggle biro – Remus insisted on them, and Harry found them far more trustworthy that quills, himself – and penned a quick note on a sheet of lined paper he kept for those of his people who lived in the muggle world. 

"Thank you, Fawkes," Harry said as he offered up the rolled paper, tied with twine. 

Fawkes caught his beak in Harry's hair, a reminder of the way another reality's Hedwig had always showed her love for him. _"Just promise me one thing, Alpha Lord."_

Harry eyed the phoenix out of the corner of his eye. "What?" 

_"Send Gellert after?"_

Harry blinked, surprised, then smiled sadly. "A second chance in the afterlife, is it?" he murmured to himself before promising, "I'll see it arranged." 

_"Then I will be content with my treason,"_ Fawkes decided before he vanished in a ball of flames. They danced warmly against Harry's cheek and he couldn't help but smile as he turned back to his guardians. 

"You understand phoenix, now?" Sirius asked, clearly amused. 

Harry shrugged. "So it seems." He expected that was part of the gift from Death, but he wasn't about to explain that; Sirius and Remus could assume it was an Alpha Lord perk. "He's promised not to betray our activities to Dumbledore, which is more than I could have asked for, given how loyal phoenixes are to those humans they give their trust to. For now, I need to head for The Bloody Eyetooth, as I suspect leaving Carmilla to deal with an angry Voldemort on her own would be considered rude." 

"What have you done to piss him off this time?" Remus asked tiredly, having heard about the way Riddle had stormed out that one time and his following two month absence. 

Harry chuckled as he made for the stairs. "I just sent Fawkes to him," he admitted, and Sirius' laughter followed him all the way up to his room. 

There, he collected the Stone and Wand, then apparated back to the pub. He was just settling down at his usual seat and accepting the butterbeer Richard had kept cool for him, when the door to the street slammed open and Riddle stormed in, looking livid. 

"It didn't even occur to me," Harry said before Riddle could start yelling, "but phoenixes actually fall under my purview, and you know how loyal they are." 

Riddle hissed some very uncomplimentary things at Harry as he settled into his stool. "You sent him on _purpose_ ," he snarled in English at last. 

Harry flashed him a smile that wasn't even pretending to be apologetic. "I'd feel bad, but I felt he deserved the treat after telling me he wouldn't get in the way when we made our move on Dumbledore." 

A plate of biscuits appeared in front of both of them, the house-elves clearly of the opinion that they needed sweets to keep from murdering each other. Riddle slumped, allowing himself to be appeased by the offering, and Harry smiled as he bit into a fresh biscuit himself. 

"My Lord," Carmilla said as she slid onto the stool on his other side, her delicate nose twisted with displeasure, "the Death magic around you is unusually prickly today." 

Harry motioned with his hand, the movement a little sharper than he'd intended, and a surprisingly strong silencing barrier snapped up around the three of them, given that it had been wandless. Riddle's eyebrows went up and Carmilla stiffened at his side. "I had to rush home to receive a most unpleasant visitor," Harry commented, keeping his voice easy, though it was clear his magic was giving his fury away. "Dumbledore came by to ask Sirius to keep an eye on any ex-Death Eaters running about the Ministry, once he returns next full moon, and also to warn that there is currently a bit of legislation going through the International Confederation of Wizards that would make it illegal for more than two werewolves to live in the same flat or house inside of a muggle city." 

There was a moment of silence within the barrier, the other two clearly at a loss for what to say, then Carmilla let out a sound that was so very unladylike, Harry couldn't help but turn to look at her, disbelieving. "I will rip out their every throat," she spat, teeth sharp against her painted lips, eyes gleaming red in fury. 

"That would solve nothing," Riddle snapped, clearly unimpressed by her display. When Harry turned to him, expression neutral, he promised, surprisingly sincere, "I will handle this." 

Harry shrugged. "There is nothing I or any of mine can do that won't make this worse; we are in your hands." 

"Do you know when the legislation is due to go to vote?" 

"I don't." 

Riddle sighed and nodded. "Very well. I'll find out the specifics tonight and send you an owl tomorrow. Was there anything else?" 

Harry shook his head. "No. But, for the moment, I would like this kept between us. I'll brief the pack alphas tonight, but if word reaches my werefolk in the wrong manner, we'll be facing the murder of every Confederation member within hours." 

"Oh, God," Carmilla whispered, feral expression turning horrified. 

Harry nodded at her, then looked back at Riddle. "Thank you, Tom." 

Riddle twitched. "I'll kill you when we're not dealing with an emergency," he promised before grabbing a handful of biscuits and leaving the pub. 

Harry smiled after him for a moment, then shook himself and looked at Carmilla. "I need to handle this. Can I trust you to stand in my place tonight and let me know if there's anything else that needs my attention?" 

Carmilla straightened in her seat, putting on her familiar proper air. "Of course, Alpha Lord." 

Harry brushed his fingers against her cheek and offered a fond smile. "Thank you, my Lady. I don't know what I'd do without you." 

"I suspect, my Lord, that you would get by." 

Harry chuckled. "I doubt we'll be finding out any time soon," he replied before grabbing a last biscuit, then walking over to a corner and summoning a doorway to the Realm of Death. 

Death was waiting for him, scythe twirling between its fingers. "I will lead you to the danger points first," it promised. 

Harry felt like a weight had been torn from his shoulders and he stumbled forward. 

Death caught him, skeletal hands strong around him. "It will be fine, Master," it said, genderless voice gentle as a last breath from the aged. "You will surpass this hurdle, as you have all others." 

Harry closed his eyes against tears, feeling weakest in the presence of the one who knew the most of him. And, yet, still Death believed in him, had decided he would succeed; it was the greatest joke that his strongest supporter was the one being that most of the world most feared. "Thank you, Death," he choked out. "You are–" _a blessing_ ; _my best friend_ ; _the only one I fully trust_ ; _**everything**_ "–invaluable." 

Death's grip on him tightened – the hug of a horror film – then drew away slowly, as though unwilling to part. "Come, Master," Death said at last, scythe reappearing in its hands, "time draws its noose and we haven't long to slip the hangman's grasp." 

Harry took a deep breath and nodded. "Right. Let's go keep my people from starting a genocide." 

-0-

When Harry finally stumbled home, he actually tripped over his own two feet upon stepping out of the doorway he'd formed, he was so exhausted. Luckily, his bed was there to catch him. It was a struggle to turn his head to the side so he could breathe, but he managed. Anything else was way beyond him. 

"Master Lord," Kreacher said on a sigh, and Harry was suddenly dressed in the pyjama trousers he always slept in. Another moment and he was under the covers, turned on his side so he was no longer half-smothering himself with his own weight. 

Harry mumbled something that he'd meant to be a 'Thanks' but was pretty sure came out more like, "Ahn." 

"Harry?" Remus whispered from the door of Harry's room. 

"Master Lord needs sleep," Kreacher snapped and Remus let out an amused sound before the door clicked closed. Kreacher's hand brushed across Harry's forehead. "Sleep, Master Lord," he ordered and magic tingled against Harry's skin. 

He couldn't even bring himself to care that his house-elf was spelling him asleep. 

-0-

"Thank you," Harry said when he found his guardians in the living room, "for taking care of the United Kingdom packs." 

Remus flashed him a smile. "I realised, after you left, that word was going to get out in a couple days, no matter what we did to keep it under wraps. Most of the packs around here know me, and those that don't know _of_ me. Lady Carmilla said, when we went to find you, that you were likely starting internationally, since word was more likely to break out first where the sun is already up, so I figured I could handle everyone local to us and give you a break." He frowned, looking Harry over. "It was clearly a good choice." 

"Yeah, you look like death warmed over, pup," Sirius agreed. 

Harry sighed and dropped into the couch next to Sirius, not even considering he could complain when Sirius tugged him over into a half-hug. "That doorway I'm always opening to get rid of people who try attacking me, the one that creeps everyone out?" 

"The one to the afterlife?" Remus asked. 

Harry nodded. "I can use it to travel." 

" _Harry_!" Remus and Sirius both shouted, fear and anger mingling in their voices. 

Harry sighed and closed his eyes, relaxing against Sirius. "Oh, give me a break. It's perfectly safe for me, since I'm the one opening them, and how did you _think_ I was getting around? Apparation?" 

"Actually," Sirius replied, voice tight, "since you picked up that new wand of yours, yeah, I sort of did." 

Harry huffed. "Sometimes I do," he admitted, "but the doorways aren't blocked by wizarding wards, so I can go anywhere I want with them, like the Forbidden Forest, or into those covens and pack lands warded against wizarding travel means. Sometimes, the Realm of Death is my best option." 

"I don't like it," Sirius snapped, and Harry opened his eyes and tilted his head so he could look up at his angry godfather. "It's dangerous, Harry. I don't care if you shove people through, but I don't want _you_ walking through them." 

Harry sighed and closed his eyes again. "Yes, I rather expected you'd say that. Well, it hardly matters now; what's done is done." He forced himself to get off the couch, feeling unspeakably exhausted, despite the tea and Pepper-Up potion Kreacher had plied him with when he got up. "I'm probably going to go back to bed, just thought I should let you know I'm fine." 

"Fine?" Sirius muttered. "You look like you're going to collapse any minute." 

Harry glanced between his guardians, both clearly still angry with him. "Let me put it this way," he suggested drily, "there are almost three hundred werefolk groups outside of the United Kingdom, all of which I had to get to last night, covering every continent save Antarctica. If I'd tried apparating that much, I would have killed myself. Walking through the Realm of Death, I'm just physically exhausted. To me, the danger was worth it." 

So saying, he stumbled back up to his room, silence following him. 

-0-

Harry stared down at the parchment he was holding, fingers white where he held it tight enough that, had he not covered it in strengthening charms, it would have torn multiple times over. _'I will **kill** him for this,'_ he grumbled to himself, though he suspected Riddle had set this up as get-back for using his first name again. Or sending Fawkes to him. Possibly a bit of both. 

A gentle hand squeezed his shoulder and he looked up to offer Sirius a shaky smile. "You can do it, pup," Sirius promised him. 

Harry gave a tight nod, then stepped through the doors with his godfather, into the massive chamber filled with witches and wizards from all over the world. Dumbledore sat directly across from the door, a supportive smile on his face. When Harry and Sirius stopped at the podium set up in the middle of the room, Dumbledore called, "Order! We are convened to hear from Sirius Black and Harry Potter on the matter of Legislation 1988-W. Will the Confederation please fall to silence!" 

When the room had fallen quiet, Dumbledore nodded to Sirius. He nodded back, then said, voice magically amplified by the podium and translated into every language necessary for their audience to understand him, "My name is Sirius Black. I am the godfather and legal guardian of Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. Two years ago, after I took Harry in, he asked me if we could turn my mother's house, which I didn't want, into a home for those in the magical world who were having trouble finding or keeping a home. I agreed, because it seemed like a good cause. It should come as a surprise to no one that every resident of that building is a werewolf, and about half of them can't afford to pay me more than a sickle a month for rent, because they simply don't have any form of income, or what income they do have goes to their pack, which has to live and survive in the wilds as best they can. 

"The first time I had to turn a werewolf away because I'd run out of room, I realised I could afford to buy another house to set them up in, and then another, and a fourth. The buildings have been magically strengthened and are locked down on the full moons, so there's no chance of anyone getting loose when they change, and each house has a compliment of house-elves who hide during the full moons for their safety, then come out at dawn and see to the residents. Other than a broken attic window – the event did _not_ result in the werewolf escaping, this body will please note – I have never had a problem with any of my tenants, either on the full moon or during the rest of the month. 

"But British werewolves aren't the only ones struggling to make ends meet. I got to thinking, a couple months ago, that it would be nice to open a few of what Harry calls 'way houses' in other countries. Just before I was about to open one in Greece, I was informed that this body was debating a bill which would make everything I've worked for over the past two years obsolete. When it was suggested I might appeal to you, I immediately set about looking into the specifics, and so here we are, asking you to, please, don't pass this bill." 

"Touching, I'm sure," one wizard said from their left. 

"Willard Ackerly is my favourite," Harry said, voice echoing in the chamber as he turned to look at the man who had spoken. "Do you know why I like him best?" 

"Do I look like I care, kid?" the man shot back, only for the woman next to him to lean over and hiss something in his ear that made him look away. 

Harry smiled. "Willard works at the grocery a couple blocks from the way house. The first time I met him, he gave me a bar of chocolate and winked at me. I didn't find out until a couple days later that it was the only sweet he ever allowed himself to buy with the money he earned, one bar per payday, because everything else went back to his pack. One of the older women of the pack has a muggle disease, the sort of thing they can cure at St Mungo's in a week, but Mungo's won't admit her because she's a werewolf, so Willard gives up on sweets so he can buy her potions and she can go to a muggle doctor who shakes his head every time he sees her, certain she'll be dead before her next appointment." 

Harry took a deep breath in the silence, looking down at his parchment of names, those who lived in the way houses who didn't mind him telling their stories, every word so painfully true, they completely shredded his heart every time he remembered them; these were his people, the forgotten and abused of their world. These were the names he had sworn to bloody his hands for, the stories that he would give _anything_ to erase. 

"Jasmine Bookman's story is a little better. She was bitten in university, just three months from getting her teaching license. She struggled and fought and kept on, and she finally managed to get it a year later. She was fired from the first two schools she was hired at because of the full moon, but the third school was headed by a squib, and she covers for Jasmine. Sometimes, Jasmine told me once, this squib misplaces complaints from other teachers, putting herself at risk so Jasmine can keep her job, can keep teaching the kids who adore her. They bring her presents whenever she's out sick, leaving them in piles on her desk, and she's got a bottomless trunk that she saved up for almost a year to get, where she's kept every single one. 

"Cavell Wordsworth works in construction, helping build muggle buildings without magic, though he is a wizard. He was bitten the summer between his sixth and seventh years, and Durmstrang wouldn't take him back when they found out. He kept his wand, and he uses it at work sometimes to keep accidents from happening, keeping the muggles he works with safe. His manager got a commendation last year, because of the low number of accidents, and Cavell was the first in the line to congratulate him. 

"Norman White owns a florist shop in London. He doesn't get a lot of business, struggles to make enough to keep the building, but his mother loved flowers. She was out in the garden, tending some night blossoms, when the werewolf attacked. She died and Norman, who went out to try and save her, was turned. He said he started the shop to remember her, to keep her alive in any way he can. He turned the back garden of his way house into a fairyland, there's so many flowers. Every morning, he goes out and tends them and brings in a fresh bouquet for the table, so everyone can enjoy them. Close to the full moon, he picks gentle scents, so no one's nose is overpowered, and near the new moon, he picks the stronger scents, because he says it aches, sometimes, when you can't smell every little scent, but the stronger flowers help, make them feel a bit more steady month 'round. 

"Mitchell Kester works at a bookshop and the corner shop and the docks, when he has the time. He, like Willard, sends all his money back to his pack. His two little brothers count among them, bitten by their father, just like Mitchell was. Their father killed himself when he'd realised what he'd done, orphaning all three. They were lucky, got taken in by a nearby pack, even though their father used to be cruel to the pack. Mitchell lives in a constant state of fear, afraid that leaving his brothers alone will only see them hurt by the pack, but equally certain that, if he isn't out, making as much money as he can, their lives are forfeit. So he works two and three jobs and only keeps enough back for bus fare and some food and rent. 

"Lyda Rodwell only got turned last year, while she was on holiday. She already had a nice job, working as manager for one of the big chains in the centre of London. She got kicked out of her flat, though, after her first full moon in London, because even though she'd locked herself in a cage, stuffing her mouth with clothing so she couldn't make any noises, her neighbours heard and complained. She was facing a demotion at work when she found Sirius, and she managed to make it through with the help of everyone else at the way house. 

"These are only a few of the werewolves I've met since Sirius took my suggestion two years ago. They're all super nice, and Willard still shares his chocolate bar with me every time I visit, even when Sirius says I don't need the sweets." A couple of people let out quiet laughs and Harry grinned around at them, eyes damp and not entirely faked. "Every single one of those werewolves wake up after the full moon covered in wounds they gave themselves, and _every single one of them_ refuses to let the house-elves take care of them until they know none of them were hurt. Every single one of them has told me, multiple times, that I must _never_ visit on the full moon. I've seen every one of them stop next to a window and rap on it with their knuckles, like they're testing to make sure the glass will hold against them. 

"Witches and wizards are scared of werewolves, and that's okay, really, even though all the ones I've met are super nice when they're human. But, the thing is, if you're scared of them, imagine _being_ one. Imagine going through _every single day_ knowing that you turn into a monster once a month, seeing the reminder of your curse in the scars you leave on yourself, hearing it in the growl of your voice when the full moon is too close. Imagine knowing that a single misstep, a single human in the wrong place at the wrong time, could mean you've committed the worst sin you can imagine. 

"Now imagine, if you can, finding a place where you can come home to. Most of the werewolves living in the way houses were loners, had never lived in a pack before. They'd never been around others like them, never had the support base of someone who understood the need to tap on the window. They've found a family, a home. They've got some place safe, some place where they can be themselves and never wonder what might happen if a housemate finds out what they are, 'cause they all already know. 

"Now, please, if you can, imagine being told that the government – not even _your_ government, for those muggles among them – is looking into ways to rip that safety, that home, that _family_ from you. They've already lost everything once, and now you're threatening to rip that away from them again. 

"Please, _please_ don't hurt them any more." Harry ducked his head, closing his eyes against the urge to cry, and whispered, "Please don't take my family away from me. Not again." 

"Thank you, Sirius, Harry," Dumbledore said into the silence, his voice tight. 

Sirius led Harry out of the chamber and they settled together in the chairs next to the door, waiting to hear the verdict. 

Twenty minutes later, Dumbledore poked his head out long enough to smile at them and wave over a scrap of parchment:

>   
>  _Pass the bill?_   
>  _Ayes -- 12_   
>  _Nays -- 73_   
>  _Abstain -- 2_   
> 

They'd _done it_.

"So," Sirius said, voice rough, "ice cream?" 

Harry swallowed. "Can we go to the pub?" 

Sirius let out an amused snort and motioned for them to head back towards the international portkey station. "Yeah, alright. Moony'll probably be there, anyway." 

The victory party that night at Bloody Eyetooth was _epic_ , ice cream and blood and alcohol and biscuits left in little messes all over the inside of the pub and out in the alley. 

And if Harry had a moment when he thought, _'Riddle should be here. It's his celebration too,'_ well. The only one who would ever know would never tell.

.


	10. Nine – Age of Mystery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have, just possibly, sat here and been a bit gleeful about all the tears Harry's stories won out of you people. Little bit. XD
> 
> The ageing ritual from a few chapters ago makes its reappearance in this chapter. I have a list of how old Harry looks each month, so if at any time someone is curious, I can tell you. (Amusingly – to me – Harry will look eighteen when he turns eleven, which hadn't originally been my intention, but it worked out well.)

"An excellent show last week, Sol," Riddle said as he slid onto the stool next to Harry. "The last line was a particularly nice touch." 

Harry raised an eyebrow at that, then snorted at himself. "I don't know why I'm surprised that you got a play-by-play. Or did you manage to sneak in?" 

"I may have borrowed some hair from one of your opponents," Riddle admitted with a flash of teeth and Harry laughed. "Truly. Even with the work of my people and Dumbledore, you were still looking at a majority pass, with those who might have tipped the balance leaning towards abstaining." 

Harry shook his head. "I suppose there's got to be some perks to losing your parents to a madman and the entire world knowing about it." 

Riddle stared at him for a moment, looking like he wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, before his face twisted with a snarl and he spat out, "If you're expecting an apology, Pot–"

"Oh, _please_ ," Harry complained. "If I expected an apology from you, do you honestly think we'd be here right now? You were taking out a threat, protecting yourself." He snorted and looked away. "I'd have done the same." Was currently doing the same thing, looking to completely devastate the magical humans without thought for who they were, what crimes they may or may not have committed against his people. 

Riddle hissed something about ridiculous, impossible children, then said in English, "Rumour tells I missed quite the impressive celebratory party." 

"You did," Harry promised. "I'm pretty sure we took over the entire alley, and a few people might have made a wrong turn onto Diagon." 

Riddle snorted. "Rumour also has it that aurors had to be called." 

"Well, there was absolutely an auror there, but if the ladies and gents in red were called, it was after I left." 

"Ah, yes, I suppose even boy lords have to keep to a bedtime." 

Harry just laughed. 

-0-

Harry woke on his birthday with a hopeful grin. He'd received his parents' rings over the course of his last two birthdays, and he couldn't even begin to guess what Sirius intended for him this year. 

Breakfast involved far more chocolate than was probably wise, but Kreacher always made him sweets for his birthday, as it was – both he and Sirius swore – a Black family tradition that birthday breakfasts had to be so sweet that everyone left with at least two cavities. (Suspiciously, neither Remus nor Sirius' birthdays were marked in this manner, but Harry enjoyed the treat too much to complain, which had very likely been the intention.) 

Just as they were finishing up, Remus let out an uncertain, "Harry?" 

Harry glanced up, curious. "Remus?" 

Remus was still for a moment, then he held the paper across the table, opened to the centre page, which was a bit sparse, as though they had struggled to fill it. When he didn't say anything further, Harry took the _Prophet_ and looked it over. The article in question wasn't hard to spot, as it took up a large part of the page, despite being brief.

>   
> _**'Ministry Executioner Found Dead**_  
>  _'Walden Macnair, the Executioner for the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures, was found dead this morning on the steps of the_ Daily Prophet _building. Aurors who reported to the scene declared his cause of death to have been the Killing Curse. The only lead to his murderer is a symbol cut into his left arm, of a line bisecting a triangle with a circle inside. A symbol which, reportedly, was used by the Dark Lord Grindelwald during his rise._  
>  _'The Ministry requests that anyone with any knowledge pertaining to this murder please send an owl to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at their earliest convenience.'_  
> 

Harry stared down at the paper, emotions torn in a thousand different directions, because he was confused about the death, but so very glad for it, even as a part of him was upset that it hadn't been _him_ to strike the final blow on the non-human murderer. 

Still, it had clearly been meant for him, left at the _Daily Prophet_ so it would make it into the paper in time for the morning edition on his birthday. Someone who knew how much he hated Macnair and wanted to send him birthday wishes? He'd have suspected one of his people, but none of them knew he possessed the Deathly Hallows, and he wasn't sure any of them would really relate Death calling him 'Master' to that symbol, not after Grindelwald used it for so long. 

Another culprit occurred to Harry, then, and he mentally called, _'Death?'_

There was long silence, wherein Sirius asked, "Right, what's going on?" 

"Walden Macnair's dead," Remus reported and they both turned to Harry with curious eyes. 

Harry shook his head. "I didn't do it, but I wouldn't be surprised if his death was meant as a gift for me." 

"It might be meant for Voldemort," Remus pointed out. "I mean, the symbol _is_ on his ring." 

_"It wasn't my doing, Master,"_ Death finally responded. _"For the culprit, you are better served looking closer to Macnair himself. But, yes, he was meant as a sort of gift, in as much as the gifter would ever admit to such intention."_

Harry couldn't keep his eyes from widening, staring down at the article with disbelief. _' **Tom**?'_ he asked. 

_"Indeed, Master. Though I expect he will deny it if ever you bring it up to him."_

Harry resisted the urge to snort, because, yeah, he rather expected that getting a confession from Riddle that he'd killed one of his own men for Harry was _never_ going to happen. _'I'll have to come up with some unnecessarily subtle way of thanking him, then,'_ he remarked and Death chuckled in his mind. _'Thank you, Death. You are, as ever, my most invaluable friend.'_

_"Happy birthday, Master,"_ Death replied. 

Harry stood, aware of Sirius and Remus' continued conversation only because it had abruptly ended. He raised an eyebrow at them, then asked, "We were going to Godric's Hollow, right?" 

"Oh, yeah, right." Sirius shoved to his feet, Remus a half-beat behind, and the table magically cleared as they collected together to apparate to the graveyard. 

-0-

"I swear you've aged another year every time I see you," Riddle remarked as he slid into his stool at Harry's side. 

Harry glanced down at himself. "You're exaggerating. The ritual said a year every four months." 

Riddle snorted. "How old does that make you now?" 

Harry grinned at him. "Come now, Voldemort, surely your maths skills aren't _that_ poor. I'm eight." 

Riddle closed his eyes and rubbed at them. "Sol." 

Harry chuckled. "About nine, I expect. I'm not really keeping track." 

Riddle shook his head and leant up to reach over the back of the bar for the stock of firewhiskey they both knew Richard had started leaving there for when the Dark Lord started reaching the end of his rope with Harry's sense of humour. "And your guardians? They don't care?" 

"They haven't noticed, honestly," Harry admitted with a shrug. "I mean, they see me every day, so even though you think the change is obvious, they haven't really caught on." 

Riddle shot him a knowing smile. "They have no idea you went looking for rituals to grow up faster, do they?" 

"First, I didn't _go_ looking, I came across it by chance when the book fell into my lap–" Riddle snorted "–second, Sirius would flip if he ever found out what the ritual entailed, and I am not putting up with Remus' disappointed stare more than I have to. I had to put up with that when I was laid up in bed after making sure my werefolk knew better than to start a war over that legislation, and I am not–"

"Your werewolf gave you a disappointed stare for handling _both_ of your people?" Riddle interrupted, disbelieving. 

Harry sighed. "Well, no. He was disapproving because I told them that I'd had to travel via the Realm of Death and when they started bitching about how it had left me exhausted, I pointed out that doing the same amount of apparation in the same amount of time would have killed me. Really, I just think the idea of me having anything to do with Death freaks them out." 

"Normal people run the other way from Death," Riddle agreed drily. 

Harry hummed a vague agreement and carefully pulled out Death's book. "So I suppose you don't want to read this?" 

Riddle's expression lit up and he reached for the book. He paused just shy of touching it and turned suspicious eyes on Harry. "What's the catch?" 

Harry rolled his eyes. "You can only read it here – I'm not chancing you forgetting to return it or Lucius stealing it – but that's it. Consider it a thank you." 

"For _what_?"

"Whatever it is my favourite source thinks I owe you thanks for," Harry replied with a bright smile. 

Riddle sneered, but carefully took the book. "Your favourite source needs to stop spying on me." 

"I'm pretty sure most of his information comes from your victims, not because he's some sort of really creepy stalker." 

Riddle pointedly opened Death's book and refused to respond to Harry again until he left, and even then it was only a hurried, "Here's your book back," before he was gone. 

Harry wasn't bothered. Honestly, he'd rather expected that. 

-0-

On the twenty-second of September, breakfast was interrupted by an incoming floo. Remus was the closest to the receiving room door, so he got up and checked. "Norman!" he called just before Harry caught the whiff of flowers that he associated with Norman White, the florist who lived in one of the London way houses. 

"Alpha?" Norman called, sounding like he was about five seconds from a full-on panic attack. 

Harry hurried around the table and brushed past Remus into the receiving room, where he found Norman collapsed on the floor in front of the fireplace, looking strained. He knelt in front of the man, gently cupping his face. "Shh. I'm right here, Norman. You're safe." 

Norman leant forward and pressed his forehead against Harry's chest, shoulders shaking and fingers pressing tightly enough against Harry's trousers that he half-expected they would rip. 

Kreacher appeared next to them, looking honestly apologetic when Norman jerked in surprise. "Calming potion, Master Lord," he offered, holding out a vial to Harry. 

"Thank you, Kreacher," Harry murmured as he took the potion and pushed Norman upright so he could take it. "Perhaps some tea in the living room? I expect that will be more comfortable than the receiving room floor." 

"Sorry, Alpha," Norman whispered as Harry helped him to his feet. 

"I'm not angry with you, Norman," Harry insisted. "I'm a little concerned, but not angry." 

Harry settled Norman on the couch and sat down next to him while Remus sat in his reading chair. Sirius stood in the doorway, clearly feeling out of place, but it was still a little too early for him to head in to the Ministry for his shift. (Anyway, if they needed the help of a human or for him to look something up at the Ministry, better he wait to find out what was going on.) 

"When I got in this morning," Norman began as Harry poured out the tea Kreacher had brought, "there were three owls waiting for me." 

"Magical customers?" Remus murmured as Sirius moved forward to accept the tea Harry held out for him. "You're a muggle business." 

Norman shook his head. "I'm in the registry, and I did tell Alpha that he could share my story at the International Confederation hearing, so I sort of half expected to get an owl or two at one point. But never three all at once. And they're deliveries at _Hogwarts_ , Alpha!" he added, turning wide eyes on Harry. "I can't go to Hogwarts! I'm a muggle! And the full moon is in _three days_."

Harry reached out and cupped his hands around Norman's, steadying them around his tea cup. "Being a werewolf negates the magic that keeps you from seeing Hogwarts, as there is magic in your veins for the change," he murmured, keeping his voice gentle. "As for the moon, I doubt the headmaster will complain, but Sirius can send him an owl with the problem and ask for explicit permission for you to go. Remus and I will accompany you, so you know there are two others with you who can keep things under control." 

Sirius was already penning the requested message by the time Harry had fallen silent, and Norman was looking far better at the promise of accompaniment. 

"Have you finished the bouquets yet?" Remus requested. 

Norman shook his head. "No, I couldn't. I–I ran for home as soon as I saw and came here. I couldn't–"

Harry shook his head. "Still not angry," he promised and Norman managed a smile, though it was a little strained. "There we go. Drink your tea, then we can go over to the shop and you can make up the arrangements." He frowned, a thought occurring to him. "Will floo travel damage them?" 

"Almost certainly," Norman admitted with a grimace. 

Harry nodded and looked towards Sirius. "Ask Dumbledore if he could either provide carriages at the gate or Fawkes, if he's capable of teleporting with three people without damaging the flower arrangements they're carrying, please." 

Sirius nodded his understanding. He finished writing and shot a spell to dry the ink, then started to roll it up as he said, "I told him the basics and asked if he could address any returns to Remus. Suggested lunch would work, but if he'd rather avoid the chance of disruption in the middle of the day, the visit can probably wait until dinner. Either way, don't be surprised if you all end up eating in the Great Hall." 

"All of us?" Norman whispered, motioning between himself and Remus. 

Remus smiled. "I attended Hogwarts while I was a werewolf. Albus truly doesn't care." 

"He tries," Harry insisted. "He tries to give everyone a chance, but he doesn't do anything for anyone outside of his direct sphere of influence. He's a good man, but he doesn't go the extra mile that we all-too-often need him to. It is, perhaps, his second greatest failing." 

"What's his greatest, then?" Sirius asked as he handed the letter down to Pinky to take to Hogwarts, since an owl would take too long. 

"He puts far too much trust in the goodness he believes everyone has." 

Sirius snorted. "I can't see Dumbledore ever believing in Voldemort's 'goodness'." 

Harry smiled. "And that, Sirius, was his third greatest failing," he commented as he stood. "Because when he was faced with an orphan who just wanted someone to tell him he was special, he refused. If you ever want to know why Voldemort picked the path he has, you need look no further than the man who introduced him to the magical world." 

"The Dark Lord is muggleborn?" Norman breathed, eyes wide. 

Sirius laughed a bit madly at that. 

Harry kicked his shin. "No," he told Norman, "but he was muggle-raised. Forgive me, but I need to get dressed into something a little less lazy if we're to be paying Hogwarts a visit." 

"As do I," Remus realised. "Norman, drink your tea. Padfoot, don't be late." 

Harry laughed as he started up to his room, Sirius' cursing and the chuckles of the other two werewolves filling the air behind him. 

-0-

Dumbledore did not, in fact, see any issue with them visiting to deliver the flowers. He did request that they come for dinner, rather than lunch, and that Remus bring them early enough to take a carriage up to the school. 

"What are those?" Norman asked as they found the thestral-drawn carriage awaiting them. 

"Thestrals," Remus replied, the tone of his voice making it clear that he didn't care for the winged horses. When Harry walked right up to them with a fond smile, he snapped, "Harry!" 

Harry rolled his eyes at the other and gently set the flowers he'd been carrying on the ground next to him, then stepped between the two thestrals so he could pet them both. "Hello, lovelies," he murmured to them and they both nudged against his hands hopefully. "Oh, Hagrid spoils you something terrible, doesn't he?" he asked with a laugh before obediently summoning a couple of fish from the Black Lake and holding them out. 

Norman let out a quiet laugh and murmured, "You really can't blame him, Remus; they're non-humans too, you know." 

Remus sighed. "I know," he murmured back before raising his voice to call, "Harry, just...don't let anyone know you can see them, for my peace of mind." 

Harry gave the two thestrals an 'as if I didn't already know that' look and they both let out amused wickers. "I'll be careful, Remus. Promise," he called back before pressing a quick kiss to the nose of each of the winged horses and gathered his arrangement back up to join the other two in the carriage. 

Dumbledore met them at the front doors, twinkling madly at Remus' amused prodding while Norman stared at the castle in awe and Harry tried to mimic him. Given, it wasn't his first visit to the school, but it _was_ his first time seeing the outside. Technically. So far as Dumbledore or any other human on staff knew. 

"Welcome to Hogwarts, gentlemen," Dumbledore offered as they finally reached him. "I'm Albus Dumbledore," he offered to Norman. 

"Uh, Norman White, sir. Thanks for letting me come, even though...well... you know." 

"Indeed I do," Dumbledore agreed with a friendly smile. "I'm certain you know when something becomes too much, and Remus, I am sure, will be willing to show you to one of his many hiding places for a bit of quiet, should it become necessary. For now, do you have the names of the students you're bringing the flowers for?" 

Norman's eyes went wide and he started patting his pockets with his free hand, searching for the paper he'd written out. 

"Opal Farley of Ravenclaw, Amaryllis Tucker of Slytherin, and Esmond Shacklebolt of Gryffindor," Harry reported. "I've got Miss Tucker's, Moon– erm, Remus has got Mr Shacklebolt's, and Norman's got Miss Farley's flowers." Then he flashed around a bright grin, like a kid looking for approval. 

Remus chuckled and ruffled his hair fondly. "Of course you'd remember all that." 

"Most excellent recall, Harry," Dumbledore praised as he motioned for them to enter the school with him. "I do hope none of you mind, by the way, but I had the house-elves provide place settings for you at the Head Table. It just seemed rude to invite you to visit during dinner and then not provide a Hogwarts meal. Especially," he added with a twinkle, "as this will be a first for two of you." 

"Sirius and I suspected you might have that in mind," Remus admitted. 

Dumbledore winked, then led the way into the Great Hall, where the students and staff were all seated, waiting for his arrival. Voices died off as everyone noticed the strangers following the headmaster. Harry shifted closer to Norman when he noticed how tightly the werewolf was clutching the vase he was carrying, trying to make it seem like he was the one seeking comfort, rather than the one providing it. 

At the head of the room, Dumbledore turned to address the student body. "Mr White here," he said, motioning towards where Norman was standing between Harry and Remus, "owns a flower shop in London and today received orders for three arrangements to be delivered to students here at Hogwarts. Here to assist him in ensuring the flowers make it to their recipients safely are Messrs Lupin and Potter." 

Dumbledore had to pause for a moment as the Hall broke out in whispers, hundreds of eyes coming to rest upon Harry. He, for his part, put on a wide-eyed stare for a moment, then stuck his tongue out at all of them, earning a wave of laughter. 

"Yes, yes," Dumbledore finally called, "we're all quite excited about the flowers, I know." A few people laughed. "If I could please have Miss Opal Farley, Miss Tucker, and Mr Shacklebolt all stand?" Dumbledore asked the room. As the three students stood, Dumbledore leant towards his guests and said, "Mr White, Miss Farley is at this table right here; Harry, Miss Tucker is that young lady standing against the wall." He didn't bother directing Remus, as he knew which table was Gryffindor. 

Harry carefully carried his arrangement to the dark-skinned Slytherin awaiting him. She looked to be in Charlie's year, her dark eyes not quite unfriendly, but it was clear she was wary of him. "Hi!" he chirped and grinned when her mouth twitched like she was trying to hide a smile. "These are from your mum, Norman said. They're amaryllis, right? Like your name?" 

"That's right," the girl agreed. 

Harry held the flowers up to her. "They're really pretty. Your mum picked a really good name for you," he told her, then left among the stifled amusement of the Slytherin House. He glanced back as he reached the Head Table again, Remus motioning him towards the seats set aside for them, and saw Amaryllis smack the boy she'd been sitting next to, who was making a kissy face. Harry rolled his eyes at the immaturity of teenagers. 

Just as he was getting ready to sit, Bill stepped up to the Head Table, head ducked beneath McGonagall's disapproving stare. "Sorry, Professors. Remus, is it okay if Harry sits with us over at Gryffindor? I think he'd be a bit more comfortable with people closer to his own age, you know?" 

Harry looked first to Norman, who gave a subtle nod – he'd be fine with just Remus for a while – then Remus, who smiled and shook his head. "Go on then, pup." 

Harry grinned and very improperly slid down and crawled under the table, rather than walking around. He bore Bill ruffling his hair with fond familiarity, then let his favourite of the Weasley children lead him over to his group of friends at the Gryffindor table. A plate helpfully appeared for him as everyone made room for him, and he spent his first Hogwarts dinner surrounded by the laughter of seventh year Gryffindors. 

-0-

Norman got two more orders to be delivered to Hogwarts in October, both of which Harry and Remus went with him for, if only for his nerves. Both times, Harry again sat at the Gryffindor table with Bill and his seventh year friends, enjoying the time spent with his friend. 

On Halloween, he and Sirius both received similar fancy letters. They traded curious looks, then ripped them open. Harry raised his eyebrows to find the envelope contained an invitation to the Malfoy Yule Ball. When he saw the date, though, his eyes narrowed. "I see," he murmured. 

"Someone wants to make sure you're not a werewolf," Sirius commented, clearly having seen that the date for the Ball was for the twenty-third, the December full moon. "Fudge, I'd guess." 

"Or nervous International Confederation members who Lucius is making friendly with on Voldemort's orders," Harry suggested before dropping the invitation next to his plate so he could return his attention to his food. "It hardly matters where the request is really coming from; we have to attend to keep from arousing suspicion. I knew it would happen eventually." 

"I suppose we all did," Sirius admitted tiredly as he followed Harry's lead in refocussing on his food. "All the same, I'd appreciate knowing who is the most nervous about you." 

"I'll ask Voldemort next week," Harry promised with a shrug. 

-0-

It turned out it had been members of the International Confederation of Wizards who had asked that Lucius ensure Harry attend the Ball, though Fudge had certainly approved when it was mentioned to him. When Riddle asked if it would be a problem, Harry shrugged and admitted, "We've already sent back our acceptance." Which seemed to be enough for the Dark Lord, for he returned to devouring Death's book with a distracted nod. 

November saw another flower delivery to Hogwarts and three to Hogsmeade. Harry didn't bother following along to Hogsmeade, but he'd practically run for his room to change when they'd got the owl about Norman needing to go to Hogwarts again, much to the amusement of his guardians. 

December, against all odds, was quiet on the magical front for flower orders. When Harry had mentioned it to Norman during the new moon – sitting at his table instead of at the bar because Carmilla was dealing with some minor vampire issues that she'd declared herself better served for, and Riddle had already warned he wouldn't be there – the florist had explained, "December tends to be really quiet until the days right before Christmas, usually, when someone realises they didn't get something – or the order fell through for some reason – for their significant other or female relative." He snorted. "I use the quiet to stock up on general materials and put in orders with some seasonal suppliers for flowers in preparation for the Christmas rush." He looked uncertain for a moment, then offered, "You're welcome to come by and assist, if you wish, Alpha." 

Harry considered that for a moment, then shrugged. "I might just take you up on that. Assuming I don't end up getting called down to Somalia again because some werelion decided to fuck with the local werehyena clan and started a minor turf war," he finished, growling at the memory of fixing _that_ clusterfuck the week of Christmas last year. 

Norman gave a nervous laugh and pushed Harry's plate of biscuits closer to him, something which earned the laughter of their tablemates and a couple people nearby who had turned to see why Harry had been growling. 

"You could just always open one of your doorways under the lot," a vampire the next table over suggested. 

"Don't think it didn't occur to me," Harry muttered around a biscuit. 

A few people shuddered and talk was turned, rather firmly, to plans for the holidays. 

When Carmilla finally got in close to midnight, Harry joined her at the bar, asking if there was anything he needed to know about whatever had called her away. There wasn't, really, but she told him anyway, because she always did. It was something Harry appreciated about her. 

-0-

The invitation to the Malfoys' Yule Ball asked that they arrive at seven, so Sirius, naturally, got them there at seven-thirty. They'd both dressed as befitting their social standings – though Sirius had originally planned to wear robes that were of questionable acceptability – Sirius in bright red, Harry in dark green. Sirius hadn't bothered doing anything special with his chin-length hair, but Harry – whose hair had been growing at an alarming rate due to the ritual and was currently brushing his shoulders – had pulled his back in a low ponytail, tired of it getting in his eyes all the time. He'd considered cutting it short, but it was much more manageable at this length, as much as it irritated him. 

Narcissa had come to meet them in the entrance hall with a tight smile and a, "Cousin Sirius, Mr Potter." 

"Cousin Cissy," Sirius replied with a nasty sort of grin. 

Harry very purposefully stepped on Sirius' foot, then offered Narcissa's surprised look with an apologetic smile. "Sorry about my godfather, Mrs Malfoy. I'm afraid Azkaban rather ruined him for polite company." 

Narcissa's mouth twitched and she quickly turned away. "This way to the ballroom, gentlemen," she ordered before leading the way through the manor to the large room which had been lit up and was filled with witches and wizards chatting or dancing to the music played by the quartet in the corner near the opened balcony doors. 

As they passed into the ballroom, a slick feeling passed over them, like being violated by magic. Harry scowled, but it was Sirius who commented, "Well, that was rude." 

Narcissa turned to them with a falsely apologetic look. "My apologies. It was added at the behest of certain dignitaries who have faced assassination attempts by people disguised through the use of polyjuice or transfiguration." 

"While possible," Sirius returned, eyes narrowed, "I think we both know it was to make sure I hadn't dressed some other kid up as Harry just to prove he's not been bitten." 

"Oh, let it, Sirius," Harry said with a roll of his eyes. "No use crying over spilt milk and all that. Clearly, we're not hiding anything, and I'm clearly human. Are we now free to torment– Ah, apologies, _mingle_ with your guests?" 

Narcissa's lips thinned. "I warned Lucius this would happen," she muttered before turning away and fading easily into the crowd. 

Sirius sighed and tugged lightly on Harry's hair. "I feel like I should be more indignant," he admitted. 

"But we'd already assumed their reasoning for the invitation," Harry finished with a shrug. "At any rate, it should keep anyone from trying to call me out on the matter for a few more months, at the least." 

"With any luck," Sirius agreed before his expression twisted with something that could almost be called disgust before a carefully crafted blankness over-took it. "What is _he_ doing here?" 

Harry moved up onto his toes, steadying himself with Sirius' shoulder, and followed his godfather's gaze to a familiar black-haired man. "Oh?" he murmured, curious in spite of himself. "Well, he's taking a chance. Want to say hello?" 

Sirius let out a discontent noise. "Not particularly," he admitted, but still walked with Harry to where Riddle was chatting amicably with another man in fluent French. Harry understood the discussion – one about a vineyard the Frenchman was particularly fond of – but Sirius wore a discontent expression that suggested he didn't know enough of the language to even pretend to follow it. 

Riddle noticed them before Sirius lost his patience, thankfully, and smoothly apologised to the Frenchman before turning to them. "Mr Potter. Mr Black." 

Harry smiled at him. "Feeling daring today– Hm. What name are you using tonight?" 

Riddle grimaced. "Thomas Gaunt." 

Harry raised an eyebrow at that. "You realise you're just giving me permission to call you Tom, right?" 

"When has my permission ever stopped you, Potter?" Riddle returned, a note of resignation to the words. 

Harry flashed him a smile that would have been toothy, were he not attempting to appear wholly human. "True enough." 

"Why _are_ you here?" Sirius finally demanded, the words stiff. 

Riddle stared at him for a moment, as though debating if he should take offence to that or not, then glanced down at Harry's wide-eyed curious expression. Riddle's lips twitched and he drily explained, "The Soviet representative wasn't comfortable attending and asked if I would go in his place. Lucius promised that no one should be in attendance that might recognise me and report back to Dumbledore, so I agreed." 

Harry blinked, admittedly impressed. "You're playing further abroad than I had expected," he admitted. 

Riddle snorted. "I have to surprise you in _some_ way, Potter." 

"Dear Merlin, I need either a drink or an explosion to deal with this," Sirius muttered, looking around. 

Harry rolled his eyes. "Do try not to blow anything up until Lucius looks like he needs an excuse to start kicking people out, please," he requested. "And recall that you're supposed to at least _pretend_ to be representing the British Ministry of Magic, Auror Black." 

Sirius snorted and shot him a knowing look. "Only if you at least _pretend_ to be eight, pup." 

Harry shoved a finger into Sirius' side. "Get out of my hair. Irritate Lucius for bowing to popular opinion and making you attend this thing just because the humans got nervous about their precious Boy Who Lived spending so much time around werewolves." 

"They really should be more concerned about the fact that you're turning into a dictator," Sirius agreed with one last tug on Harry's hair before he left them for the drinks table. 

Harry turned to Riddle again. "I hope you don't mind as I pretend like I actually know you well enough that Sirius doesn't mind pissing off and leaving me with you." 

Riddle snorted. "If nothing else, Lucius' confusion will be worth putting up with you. I expect you should be interested in meeting some of those allies I've made abroad in the past months?" 

"If it's not too much of a difficulty." 

Riddle snorted again and motioned for Harry to follow him through the crowd. "The only difficulty, Potter, will be in remembering what name to call you." 

"And not turning into a homicidal maniac every time I call you Tom," Harry added cheerfully. 

Riddle twitched and shot him a disgusted look before stopping to introduce Harry to the Italian ICW representative. 

All things considered, it was probably for the best that Sirius had left them, because Harry and Riddle spent a good two hours making the rounds. Riddle was unsurprisingly charming, his smile and manner showing no sign of being a false mask. Harry, for his part, played the unusually intelligent eight-year-old that he always acted in public, pretending confusion over both politics and most languages, though he did mangle some French and act proud that he'd managed that much. 

"I'm actually a little impressed with how many languages you speak," Harry admitted during a break to obtain drinks, Riddle being very obvious about making sure Harry's was non-alcoholic, given their audience. 

Riddle narrowed his eyes. "Likewise," he allowed after a brief silence. When Harry raised an eyebrow, he commented, "I think I know you well enough, by now, to know when you're pretending not to understand something." His mouth twisted into a brief scowl before smoothing out entirely. "Besides, you cannot possibly manage the number of people you do with only English." 

Harry chuckled and took a quick sip of his bubbly. "True enough." He glanced out over the ballroom, eyes alighting on those he knew almost against his will. "Death speaks all languages," he murmured. 

Riddle jerked, eyes flashing red for a beat. " _All_ languages, Potter?" he hissed. 

Harry smiled at him. **: _All_ languages, Tom,:** he agreed in Parseltongue. 

**:I will _kill_ you, Potter,:** Riddle spat. 

Harry laughed and reached up to pat Riddle's cheek. "You say some of the sweetest things to me." 

Lucius was suddenly next to them, expression a mix of panic and disconcertion. "Mr Potter," he said stiffly, "would you please escort your godfather home before he does something to land himself back into Azkaban?" 

Harry snorted. "More likely, he'll do something that'll make someone else respond in such a way to land them in Azkaban, but I do agree that it might be time to drag him home," he decided before flashing Lucius a bright smile. "Thank you so much for the invitation, Mr Malfoy!" He looked at Riddle, smile widening at his scowl. "Bye, Tom! Have a good birthday!" Which just made Riddle look even more murderous. 

Then he hurried off towards where he'd last seen his godfather and just barely stopped what could have turned into an international incident by leading the man away from where the Iran, Iraq, and Saudi Arabian representatives were debating the current muggle conflict in fast-paced Arabic. 

"Lucius is kicking us out," Harry told Sirius as he herded him towards the exit. 

"Took him long enough," Sirius muttered. 

Harry snorted and waited until Sirius had apparated them home before admitting, "I'm pretty sure he was trying to keep Voldemort from killing me because I'd patted his cheek." 

Sirius burst out laughing and made a show of wiping at his eyes. "Merlin, pup. And I thought _I'd_ be the one to drive Lucius to drinking tonight." 

Harry grinned. "You were a very close second, I'm sure," he promised before starting upstairs. "Now, I'm going to go change, then check on my pack," he announced, meaning the groups in the way houses; he visited with all of them every full moon, his presence helping to calm them down and get some sleep so they were at least a _little_ functional the next day. "I'll see you in the morning." 

"Yeah, okay. Bite Moony for me or something." 

Harry rolled his eyes, resigned to his godfather's sense of humour, and set about his Alpha duties. 

-0-

At the beginning of May, a group of goblins approached Harry. He raised his eyebrows at them, turning to give them his attention, because other than the first time they'd introduced themselves, the goblins didn't approach him for anything. Both Riddle, having been around long enough to know this, and Carmilla, turned to look as well, looking as bemused as Harry felt. "Yes, Ragnok?" he asked of the goblin at the head of the group, who he remembered from the only time he'd met the top echelon of the British Branch of Gringotts. 

Ragnok's eyebrows raised. "Alpha Lord, what do you know of Gringotts' hiring practices in terms of humans?" 

Harry blinked. "Ah," he breathed, figuring out what this was about. "So far as I'm aware, you send them abroad to another bank or an excavation site, depending on their preferred speciality, in an effort to isolate them from anything familiar and foster their attachment to the goblin nation." 

**:Why does this not surprise me?:** Riddle hissed. Since discovering Harry understood Parseltongue, he'd been using the language to make disparaging comments about matters brought to Harry that he normally would never have dared voice. Harry half hoped a naga or other serpentine non-human would show up so Riddle would shut up, even as he was generally amused by the Dark Lord's comments (Riddle had clearly figured out where Harry's limits were and treaded around the edges of them without any apparent care). 

Ragnok inclined his head and pulled out a scroll with handwriting on it which Harry recognised. "Essentially correct. I find myself, however, currently at a loss for what to do about this applicant, who cites _you_ as a reason for remaining in Britain." 

"Did he actually use my title?" Harry wondered, because while the goblins certainly knew who he was, he hardly expected them to care if some human mentioned Harry Potter as a reason for remaining close to home, not given his fame. 

Ragnok lifted the scroll and pointed to where Bill had clearly written 'Alpha Lord Harry Potter' on the parchment. 

Harry chuckled. "Clever, Bill," he murmured as he rubbed at his chin. "I admit, I find myself with a conundrum all my own, for while Bill certainly knows my title, he is not fully comprehending of the meaning behind it." He considered that for a moment, weighing the likelihood of Bill finding out that Harry was looking to crush humanity while he was in Britain, against him finding out abroad. 

He didn't suppose it really mattered where he was stationed, the matter would come to light in time. At least if he was in Britain, Harry would be easily accessible, rather than forcing Bill to stew while waiting for a response from Harry via owl post. "I believe it's to my preference that he remain in Britain, if only for ease of damage control, should such be necessary. You can certainly request he move closer to London, to separate him from his family. Very likely, he'll appreciate the additional freedoms, though I expect Molly will have something to say about it." 

"We shall look into such arrangements, then, Alpha Lord." 

Harry smiled and inclined his head. "Thank you for your consideration, Ragnok." 

Ragnok flashed him a mean smile. "So long as you continue to treat fairly with us, we will do so, Alpha Lord," he promised before walking towards the door of the pub, the other goblins following him. 

"You put up with so much more disrespect than you should have to," Riddle commented, expression twisted with disgust. 

Harry rolled his eyes. "They have reason for their attitude and, honestly, I appreciate that they're willing to play as polite as they do; I made it clear during our first meeting that I don't require deference, just a lack of hostility." 

" _Polite_ ," Riddle repeated disbelievingly. 

Harry laughed. "You know, it's almost cute how you keep expecting human interactions among non-humans." 

"He can't help himself," Carmilla remarked as she filed one of her nails to a deadly-sharp point. "He's simply too human." 

Riddle hissed some choice remarks at her and Harry levelled a disapproving look at him. "If you can't say it in English, you shouldn't be saying it in any other language." 

Riddle eyed Carmilla's sharpened nails and then proceeded to busy himself with his plate of biscuits. 

Harry just sighed and wondered, of the two of them, who was _really_ the child.

.


	11. Ten – Absence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Went back and forth a few times in regards to the final scene in this chapter and whether or not it would include a kiss. Set everything up for it, then ended up not, mostly because Harry and Tom sort of need to talk about this. Next chapter.
> 
> You'll be finding out, in this chapter, why I've been giggling stupidly over every review since chapter seven that's mentioned Snape.

Credit where credit was due, it only took Bill a month at Gringotts to figure out Harry had no intention in creating equality between humans and non-humans. (Riddle had been hanging out at Bloody Eyetooth once a month for almost two years, off and on, and if he'd cottoned on, he'd kept mum on the subject.) 

Bill chose Harry's own home as the theatre for his complaint, apparating to the front stoop and walking right in, since it had long been made clear to him that he was welcome to do so. He found Harry in the living room, curled up on one end of the couch with a muggle fiction book that Mitchell had got for free from his job at the bookshop because the cover had come ripped. (The werewolf had said it was worth a laugh, and while Harry had certainly laughed, he'd also found himself enjoying the book; it wasn't hard for him to relate to a main character who had the fate of his world resting on his shoulders, after all.) 

"Harry?" Bill called, announcing his presence, though Harry had known who it was the moment he'd entered the house, plenty familiar with Bill's scent. "Can I talk to you?" 

Harry took a moment to find his bookmark in the couch cushions – he really needed to find a better place to put the bloody thing than in his lap, especially since he tended to shift as he read – then turned his attention towards the older wizard. Only for Sirius to poke his head in the doorway, saying, "Hey, thought I heard– Oh, hi, Bill." 

Bill's hands clenched around the chair he'd come to a stop behind and he threw a strained smile over his shoulder. "Hey, Sirius." 

Sirius' eyes widened. "Oh. Oh, that does not look like a good expression. Does that look like a good expression?" he asked Harry. 

Harry rolled his eyes. "Piss of, Sirius. Bill, why don't you sit down? You look distinctly unwell, and I'm not much up for your mum rushing over because something happened to you." 

Sirius vanished from the doorway, but Harry knew he hadn't left human hearing-range of the living room, obviously curious about what had Bill over without warning. 

Bill dropped heavily into the chair and sighed, looking stressed. "I overheard a conversation between a couple of the goblins today which...well, it made me a bit...uncertain." 

Harry raised an eyebrow at him. "You are being unusually delicate about this," he commented when Bill didn't continue immediately. "What could the goblins have possibly said to have you so off?" 

Bill took a deep breath, then burst out, "They seem to think your plan is to crush humanity under your boot!" 

There was a moment of silence while Harry's other eyebrow reached the first, then Sirius started laughing out in the hallway. 

"I'm pretty sure," Harry commented, "that I don't have boots big enough to accomplish that particular feat." Sirius let out an amused howl. "Pun unintended. Sirius! Either piss off properly or get your arse in here, you bloody loon!" 

Sirius, wisely, moved off down the hall, laughing all the way. 

"Harry," Bill whispered, looking hurt, "whatever happened to equality between humans and non-humans?" 

Harry put on his most childish expression – difficult, now he looked Hogwarts age – and innocently asked, "What's equality?" 

Bill flinched and looked away. 

Harry sighed and sat his book down on the cushion next to him before sliding forward to plant his feet on the floor. "William," he called seriously, using Bill's full name to make him look up, "I need you to do something for me. I need you to look at everything you know about our world – about humans and non-humans both – and then I need you to tell me how a truly equal society is going to work." 

Bill closed his eyes and swallowed. "So you're intending to turn the tables." 

"Yes." 

"And what about us humans, then?" Bill threw out, eyes bright with tears. "What about me? And Sirius? Do we not matter to you?!" 

Harry tilted his head to one side. "It's a funny thing, the space between humans and non-humans," he commented. "A human can become a non-human, but there's no way to work it the other way around." 

"So you're saying we'd all need to become werewolves or vampires?" 

"No." Harry sighed and shook his head. "No, that's not what I'm saying. Sirius is fully intending to embrace vampirism once he no longer has to be human to retain custody of me, but making the switch to non-human isn't for everyone, and I accept that." He snorted. "Though, really, British wizards are so stuck on becoming an animal once a month or being forced to subsist on blood, they don't realise there are worse non-humans to be turned into." 

That seemed to catch Bill off guard. "What? No, but, vampires and werewolves are the only non-humans capable of expanding their number via bite." 

"True," Harry agreed. "However, the American wendigo is a spirit which possesses a human who has partaken of human flesh and changes them to become non-human. Cannibals, though that could be considered debatable, since they eat humans." 

Bill looked honestly horrified. "That is–"

"Revolting, I know," Harry agreed, nodding. "But that's not the issue at hand, is it?" He sighed. "Yes, Bill, my intention is the returned dominion of non-humans, with magical humans serving as the lesser species. Even though that means I am likely to see those humans I count among my friends either dead or treated as humanity has so kindly treated my kind over the millennia. And I'm honestly sorry for that, but there is no other way." 

Bill closed his eyes. "You're not just going to let things lie," he guessed. 

Harry let out a laugh, and it was tired and broken, a man who had fought too long against inequality. "Bill," he said quietly, "last summer, I had to go to the International Confederation of Wizards and tell them about some of the werewolves I know to keep them from passing a law that would disallow my way houses in London." 

Bill stared at him. "When did– Why–?"

"Why didn't I tell you?" Harry guessed, and Bill nodded. "What could you have done about it? We won, but the fact that I had to go at _all_ tells me a thousand times over that something has to be done. And it's not the fair way, no, but life isn't fair. My people have been ground to the dirt for too long, and even if there wasn't a prophecy hanging over my head saying this was my path in life, I'd still have put everything on the line to see non-humans rising up at last. Because that is _their right_. They've suffered for this – blood, sweat, and tears – for _thousands of years_. You and I, we're but _infants_ in this conflict, stepping in just in time to watch it all come to a head; what right do we have to hold back a revolution that has been growing for so long?" 

Bill offered him a smile, that of a man who had finally seen the weight another carried. "And you'll be right at the head, won't you?" 

Harry smiled back. "Seems so. Guess that means I'll die quick if it blows up in my face." He sighed and leaned back. "Look, this is hardly something that's going to happen overnight. You're in a singular position, among humans, sitting in the heart of the goblin nation and sharing in my trust, in as much as I trust anyone–"

"Even Sirius and Remus?" Bill asked. 

Harry raised an eyebrow at him, a silent 'What do _you_ think?' and Bill grimaced, because he'd been there, four years ago, when Sirius had first found out what Harry was. "You'll know when whatever happens happens. Likely, you'll have some level of protection from things, but I can't promise you anything. I _really_ can't promise anything about your family, because while I honestly believe they're good people, I don't have a lot of say in who gets what punishment for the crimes of their ancestors. More to the point, your father works for the Ministry, and I don't expect many Ministry personnel to survive." 

Bill let out a choked noise. "You're saying I have to sit back and _watch my father die_?" he whispered. 

Harry glanced to the side, forcing his expression to remain firm, neutral, then met Bill's heartbroken stare and stated, "Yes. And, should any of your family decide to fight against the non-humans, you will watch them die as well." 

Bill abruptly stood and walked out of the house, the crack of apparation from the stoop signalling he'd left for good. 

Harry sighed and slumped back against the couch, rubbing fiercely at his eyes. He wished, above all else, that he could have protected the Weasleys. Them and Hermione and Neville and Luna. Because they were his friends, his family. They were _pack_ , even though Hermione had no clue he existed, Neville and he had never met, Luna was but a passing acquaintance, and most of the younger Weasleys drove him completely insane. 

"Pup?" Sirius asked from the doorway. 

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but the 'Give me a minute' got stuck in his throat, and so did the 'I'm fine' that followed, so he settled on, "I need a hug," and that must have come out just fine, because Sirius dropped onto the couch next to him and pulled him against his chest, arms wrapping as tightly around Harry as the first time. 

As long as this didn't change, Harry was certain he could face down any heartbreak to come. 

-0-

Bill didn't talk to Harry again until December, coming into the Bloody Eyetooth with a couple of goblins. Harry was in the middle of a heated debate about how to open your presents – whether to rip the wrapping paper all to hell or take it off carefully and save it to use again later – at a table of various werefolk, so he didn't notice Bill had entered the pub until everyone around him had gone silent. He turned to look then, finding the two goblins – Rockun and Gornuk – glaring at the crowd. 

"Bill!" he called and the only human – Riddle had again begged off, likely afraid Harry would give him a gift in person – in residence jumped. "Help me out here! Unwrapping presents: Rip the paper or open it carefully." 

Bill blinked a couple times, then offered a helpless smile and said, "Sorry, Growly, but I'm going to have to say rip it." 

Harry groaned, then turned and pointed at his opponent, a werelynx named Letty, and stated, "You win this round, feline, but don't expect me to capitulate so easily next time." 

Letty offered him a bright smile. "I look forward to your future defeat, Alpha." 

Harry wiggled a finger at her, then stood and ruffled the hair of the werewolf who'd been sitting next to him before walking over to the trio standing tensely by the door. "Rockun, Gornuk, always a pleasure. Hi, Bill. Welcome to my stomping grounds." 

"I'm pretty sure you mean the grounds where you get stomped," Bill returned easily while the two goblins inclined their heads in greeting. 

Harry laughed, and the tension in the pub decreased dramatically. "Here, come sit with me," he directed, motioning towards the bar. "The house-elves here, Shrill and Bipdey, make the most _amazing_ chocolate biscuits. If you could marry biscuits, I would marry them." 

Bill snorted. "I suspect eating any, at that point, would be homicide." 

"Would that be mariticide or uxoricide?" Harry wondered a bit inanely before he grimaced. "Bollocks. You may be right." He shook his head and flashed a smile at Carmilla, who was on her usual stool, as he slid into place next to her, Bill talking Riddle's empty stool to his other side. "My Lady, may I introduce my dear friend, Mr William Weasley. Bill, this is Countess Carmilla Sanguina, my right hand vampire." 

"A pleasure, Mr Weasley," Carmilla murmured with her best smouldering gaze. 

Bill gave an uncertain cough. "Erm, no, please. Pleasure's all mine." 

Carmilla hummed and kissed Harry's cheek. "He's certainly the most polite human you've brought." 

Harry snorted. "I'm sorry, are you comparing Bill to Sirius?" 

Carmilla let out a light laugh. "Ah, yes. I forget how low the bar is set, given they're all so...edible." 

Bill's swallow was audible. 

Harry bit back a laugh and reached for the plate of biscuits that had appeared in front of him, sliding them to the side so Bill could take some. "Here. Have one, seriously." 

Bill picked one up and took a careful bite. His eyes widened almost immediately and he held his hand in front of his mouth and exclaimed, " _This_ is where you're been getting these things! Do you have any idea how hard Mum's been working to replicate them after that one time you brought some back?" 

Harry couldn't quite stop the giggle that slipped between his teeth and he leaned forward to hide his face against the bar for a bit of helpless laughter. 

Edmund snorted as he set two bottles of butterbeer on the bar top between Bill and Harry. "You have no bloody clue how long my Lord has been trying to get Shrill or Bipdey to pass the recipe on to his house-elves." 

Bill reached over and rubbed at the top of Harry's head, pulling his hair out of the tie he'd taken to using to keep it out of his face, since that was easier than keeping up with its enhanced growing. "Only you, Growly." 

"Aww, Bill," Harry complained, tugging the tie out and trying to finger-comb it back into place. "Can't you just tug on the ponytail like Sirius does?" 

Bill very visibly considered that while he swallowed a sip of butterbeer. "Mmm, no. Sorry, kid, but that's not a habit I can break." 

Harry huffed and let his hair go as he finished tying it off again. 

"You know," Bill mused, "you're not looking much like a kid any more. In fact, you look rather more Fred and George's age than Ronnie's." 

Harry put on an innocent expression. "Do I?" 

Bill narrowed his eyes and gave him a once-over, then let out a snort. "Alright, Growly, what did you do?" 

"Ritual to speed up my ageing," Harry admitted while Carmilla chuckled on his other side. "Almost two years ago, now. You're the first person who sees me even semi-regularly who's cottoned on yet. Well, save my Lady and Tom, but Tom saw it in the book and my Lady was here when he saw." Carmilla had actually had to ask about the ritual after Riddle had stormed out, but it was around the same time period. 

Bill shook his head. "Sirius and Remus haven't caught on yet?" 

"Nah. If either of them ever came with when I went over to the Burrow, they might figure it out, but the only people they ever see me with is other adults. Even Remus has stopped coming with when Norman has flowers to deliver to Hogwarts." 

Bill frowned. "What have you got him doing?" he asked, rightfully guessing Remus' absence was Harry's fault. 

"Oh, he's my official envoy with some allies of mine who are better off not knowing who I am." The Death Eaters, he meant. As soon as Riddle admitted he was having trouble collecting all the reports from his people, since he was out of the country so often, back in May, Harry had suggested Remus act as a sort of second. Unofficially, he was Harry's man in the Death Eaters, reporting on their activities and any new members. Officially, he answered only to Riddle, though Harry suspected Riddle knew Remus was playing spy for him and let him get away with it just because he was hardly Harry's only source. 

"Oh, which allies?" Bill asked, voice too casual. 

Harry grimaced and eyed him a bit uncertainly. "I'm not sure I should tell you. You'll probably storm out on me again." 

Bill grimaced himself. "I'm sorry about that, Harry," he offered quietly. "I shouldn't have–"

Harry waved it away. "You had every right. I apologise for being purposefully callous in order to get a response." 

"Yeah," Bill sighed. "After I calmed down, I realised that's probably what you were doing. Blazing sign on the side of the road, 'Turn back now! Danger ahead!' "

Harry snorted and grabbed a biscuit. 

Bill draped an arm around Harry's shoulders and pulled him close. "And then it occurred to me that you've known this all along, and instead of writing my family and I off right away, you kept coming over and getting close. So I expect I'm not the only one who's waiting with dread for the axe to fall." 

Harry offered him a tired smile. "You're not wrong," he admitted quietly. 

Bill squeezed his shoulders once before drawing away. "Right. Who's this ally I'm not going to like?" he asked before biting into another biscuit. 

Harry eyed him for a moment, weighing his options, before admitting that Bill was going to find out sooner or later, and it was probably best to do it when Riddle was away. "Voldemort." 

Bill performed the expected jump at the forbidden name, then turned wide eyes on Harry and breathed, " _What_?"

Harry shrugged. "I needed someone to take out the Ministry, and Voldemort popped out of the woodwork, so I figured I'd let him do it for me. Once he's smashed the current opposition, thinking the non-humans his unquestioning allies, we turn around and kill him and his." 

"...how did I miss how bloodthirsty you are?" was Bill's eventual response. 

Harry shrugged. "Until recently, you thought I was planning something fairly bloodless. Incidentally, I'm actually a bit of a psychopath." 

"That would explain why you so enjoy riling the Dark Lord," Carmilla remarked drily. 

"You know, if he would stop getting insulted at the drop of a hat, it wouldn't be nearly as attractive a pastime," Harry pointed out, rolling his eyes. "I mean, for fuck's sake, he starts threatening murder any time I even _hint_ I know his birth name. And Merlin forbid I touch him again or send him a birthday present." 

Carmilla turned away to hide a smile while Bill just burst out laughing, the sound strained. 

Harry let out an unnecessarily explosive sigh. "I swear, the man was a cactus in his last life. It's the only explanation." 

"How are you still alive?" Bill asked, more than a little disbelieving. 

Harry grinned. "Excellent reflexes. Also, a habit of only ever meeting with him while surrounded by _my_ people." 

Bill shook his head and turned back to his biscuits. 

Which was pretty much how Harry got Bill back as his best friend. 

-0-

"How old are you now?" Riddle asked as he slid onto his stool next to Harry in July, looking haggard. He'd been missing the past four months, and if not for Remus' assurances that he was still trading owls with the Dark Lord, Harry might have seriously gone looking for him. 

Harry considered the Dark Lord for a moment before deciding not to play games and saying, "Fourteen-ish. By the way, Remus finally clued in while you were gone. He and Sirius had _words_ for me." 

Riddle snorted and offered Richard a grateful nod when the werewolf set a glass of pumpkin juice down in front of him. "Did you admit where the ritual had come from?" 

"Are you kidding? Hell, no! I claimed I borrowed a book from you that it was in. And, no, I don't remember what the book was." 

"So glad I could serve as your accomplice in lying to your guardians," Riddle muttered into his glass, though it was clear he was amused. "Anything else I missed?" 

"Some pack fuck-ups, a minor verbal skirmish between the goblins and the Ministry, and Karkaroff trying a runner a couple weeks ago, which Erica handled without any trouble. She said she sent an owl off to you about it, but knowing how much trouble you've been having staying in contact with Remus, I told her I'd make sure you knew." 

Riddle nodded. "I had seen that, yes, but thank you. There's not much I can do about him right now, other than dropping by Durmstrang and Crucioing him a bit more." He shot Harry a speculative look. "You look old enough, you could probably go out there and put the fear of an angry Lord into him for me." 

Harry snorted. "I'll see where we stand once term starts back up, get another couple months of growing under my belt." 

"If anyone else said that..." Riddle muttered, shaking his head, and Harry laughed. "Anything interesting come from the Ministry and Gringotts butting heads?" 

Harry knew his expression had tightened, but he honestly couldn't help it, still pissed off on the goblins' behalf that the humans had tried turning a minor dispute between one teller and an undersecretary into a reason to fine the goblins heavily and reword the contract between them. The latter had been avoided, barely, by a couple of goblins being smart and suggesting they use their human employees to reply, making the issue between humans and humans, rather than between humans and goblins, but they hadn't been able to duck the fine. "No," he managed, looking away and trying to get his voice under control. "Some bruised pride on the Ministry's behalf." 

Riddle was quiet for a moment, then he asked, "And the goblins?" 

Harry closed his eyes, forcing out a slow breath. "It's fine. I handled it." And he had, by refunding the goblins from his own vaults. Ostensibly for not jump-starting the brewing war by being stubborn. 

Riddle sighed and didn't pursue the matter, instead turning to discussing all the work he'd been doing making allies in Central and Southern America. He got side-tracked mentioning a couple of Mayan temples he'd apparently spent a week hunting through, and Harry shortly found himself staring down at a rough copy of what Riddle'd thought were spells and took rubbings of from the walls of a large room that had required magic to get into. 

"I can't read them," Riddle admitted, sounding honestly disgusted with himself for not being able to understand a dead language, "but I recalled someone saying something about understanding _every_ language, so..." 

"This is a spell," Harry agreed, wandlessly summoning a muggle biro and marking off a grouping of symbols. "Looks like a light spell, like Lumos, but I'd have to cast it to be sure." 

"Any others?" Riddle asked, leaning closer to Harry. 

Harry nodded a bit absently as he marked off each of the spells. "They all look like they're fairly low-level. Maybe it was a school at some point?" 

"Or a classroom of some sort specific to magic users," Riddle agreed before tapping the symbols between Harry's groupings. "And these?" 

Harry considered them for a moment, tilting his head as he turned the translations his Death-based skills provided over in his mind. "Linking words, I believe. Or possibly a guide of where to put emphasis, now that I think of it." 

"You don't just know?" Riddle asked, clearly entertained at the idea. 

"Knowing what the words mean doesn't, necessarily, mean I know what they parse together as in this context. I mean, the fact that they used symbols is, in itself, a complication. That they seemed to use some sort of butchered form of a couple of different regional languages to create the spells makes it more interesting." 

"Don't strain yourself, Sol." 

"Shut up." Harry nodded to himself and sat back. "Yeah, emphasis and pronunciation guide. Merlin, the Mayans were little bastards, weren't they?" 

Riddle laughed and reached over to tap the parchment with the rubbings with his wand, making an exact copy. "Once you've figured out the phonetics and what each spell is for, feel free to share them." 

Harry snorted and started rolling up his copy. "Planning to befuddle modern wizards by shouting at them in ancient languages?" 

"As an attack plan, it's not a terrible one," Riddle insisted. "I mean, your average Hogwarts-learned witch or wizard will just sort of stare, uncomprehending." 

"Or assume you're blabbering nonsense to distract them and get the hell out of your way," Harry added before rolling his eyes. "No, wait, you're right. I'm giving magical humans too much credit." 

"Magical human," Riddle reminded him, pointing at himself. 

Harry nodded. "And you have your moments. I'd go listing them, but I'm not much inclined to have you sulking off like a sullen child when you're only just back." 

Riddle scowled at him. "Excuse me, P– Sol, but _which_ of us is the child?" 

They were interrupted by dinner appearing in front of both of them, wafting delicious scents up at them. 

Riddle's stomach let out a snarl and he grimaced even as he grabbed for his silverware and started after his food. After a couple bites, he sighed and whispered, "I missed pub food." 

Harry smiled to himself and sent a mental congratulations to the two house-elves in the kitchen. 

Harry was just finishing his meal when the door to Knockturn opened. He glanced up a bit reflexively, only to freeze when he recognised the man who was just stepping in, blinking rapidly against the change in light quality, given that it had been unusually sunny of late and the pub was always kept dark in deference to its non-human clients and proprietors. "Well," he murmured to Riddle, "this is about to turn a little awkward." 

Riddle glanced up and paused, staring at the dour man who was squinting around the pub, eyes clearly still trying to adjust. The Dark Lord's mouth curled up in a cruel little smile and he called, "Severus, this is a surprise." 

Snape stiffened, his eyes immediately coming to rest on Riddle. He swallowed a couple times, still blinking a bit too often from the darkness inside the pub, and cautiously asked, "M-My Lord?" 

"Very good, Severus," Riddle agreed with a tolerant smile. "Come sit with me, won't you?" He turned to Harry as Snape started over, the potions maker looking a bit like he was going to his death. **:Should we just kill him now, do you think?:** Riddle asked, and Snape stiffened even more, though Harry hadn't thought it would be possible. 

Harry raised an eyebrow. **:Oh, are you actually asking me? How unlike you.:**

Snape very subtly tried to lean forward and see Harry around Riddle. Harry, refusing to make it easy for him, absently tugged his hair out of its tie and set about fussing with it to hide his face. 

**:Since you suggested he would be your victim at some later point, I figured I'd give you the option now,:** Riddle replied with a careless shrug. **:But if you don't care...:**

"Hm." Harry slipped smoothly from his stool and stepped around Riddle to Snape's other side while he tied his hair back up. Then he raised his head and flashed the professor a too-sharp smile. "Hello, Professor." 

Snape's eyes went wide and his head went back and forth between Riddle's casually amused form on one side of him and Harry's wolfish grin on the other. Finally, he focussed on Harry, took in the sharpness of his teeth and his eyes, which had almost certainly turned gold, and spat, "I _knew_ that werewolf–"

Harry very casually grabbed Snape by the nape and flung him backwards, patrons ducking as he sailed over their heads and slammed into the far wall. "Yeah," Harry said, trying not to sound irritated, "I knew it wouldn't take him long to piss me off." 

"Temper, Sol," Riddle commented with a chuckle. 

"Pot, kettle, Voldemort," Harry returned as he started towards where Snape was attempting to get to his feet, one arm held tight against his chest like either it or his ribs were broken. "You know," Harry said a bit conversationally, "if you hadn't started in on Remus first thing–" a couple of the werefolk around him let out a low growl, plenty of them fond of Harry's guardian "–I might have been willing to let you live. Play spy against Dumbledore for a bit, maybe, if we could find some way to guarantee your loyalty. But no, you had to go there." 

"Potter," Snape hissed, keeping his voice low, likely to keep Riddle from hearing, "whatever he's promised you, whatever–"

Harry smiled, teeth showing, and reached up to pat the professor's cheek. "I love how you people seem to think that, because I'm not quite ten, I'm the nice one. Sadly, for you at least–" Harry took a gentle hold of Snape's head, watching the terror bloom in his eyes "–I might actually be worse than him." Then he spun Snape's head, snapping his neck. 

Harry dragged Snape's body over to the corner near the door that he usually opened a doorway to the Realm of Death in when he was using it as a means of travel and opened said doorway. He took a moment to search Snape's body, pocketing a few potions vials, a portkey, and the man's wand, then tossed his lifeless body through the doorway and let it close. 

"I'm pretty sure that wasn't intended as an easy way to hide bodies," Riddle commented as Harry returned to his stool. 

Harry shrugged. "If Death has an issue with my bad habit, he'll let me know. As it is, it's efficient, untraceable, and the bodies don't seem to turn back up anywhere, so I'll keep using it." 

Riddle shrugged. "It should be amusing to watch Dumbledore become more and more distressed by his lack of potions professor." 

"It's a pity we don't have anyone in the school," Harry commented with a vague shrug. "I expect he'll go after Slughorn next, drag the man out of retirement." 

Riddle looked almost concerned for a moment before he let out an irritated laugh. "You have them. Of course." 

Harry tilted his head and considered that for a moment. "Oh, your treasures. Yes. Well, except for the locket and whatever other one I assume you've since created." 

Riddle eyed him strangely for a moment. "I didn't." 

Harry blinked at that. _'Death?'_

_"He didn't,"_ Death agreed. _"He has noticed the difference in his thought processes between now and before he attacked you, and decided not to, as it were, 'mess with a good thing'. Also, he is of the rather mistaken impression that you wouldn't chance harming the Stone to take out the ring."_

Harry gave an absent nod. "Then, yes, all but the locket, so I wouldn't be concerned about whatever information Dumbledore might or mightn't glean from Slughorn's mind." 

"There are times, Sol, when I wonder how you can possibly know the things you know." 

"Then you remember my favourite source?" 

Riddle grimaced and picked up his pumpkin juice. "Yes, that's rather the way of it," he agreed before taking a drink, then returned to discussing his trip. 

-0-

"You know," Harry said when Riddle slid into the stool next to him in December, looking far less tired than he had the previous month, when he'd come back from another multi-month trip, "if I didn't know better, I'd think Lucius doesn't like you." 

Riddle shot him a suspicious look. "Why? Has your werewolf forgotten to mention something that he's done in regards to me?" 

Harry blinked. "Of course you've been out of the country again," he muttered to himself before pulling out the invitation that had arrived for him almost two weeks ago, for a New Year's Party at Malfoy Manor. There were directions inside, requesting that Sirius be left at home, where he couldn't cause any international incidents – clearly, Lucius had learnt that lesson – but also a request that he please bring _someone_ who could serve as a proper chaperone, no matter how mature Harry appeared and acted – which sounded like Narcissa, honestly. The party was, of course, on the thirty-first, which happened to be both Riddle's birthday and the full moon. 

Riddle grimaced in distaste and handed the invitation back. "No presents, Sol," he insisted. 

"You don't like them?" Harry asked, putting on a sad face. 

Riddle sighed and closed his eyes. "No presents," he said again. Which meant, Harry figured, that, yes, Riddle enjoyed them, he was just trying to be a proper Dark Lord about his birthday. 

"I make no promises," he decided and Riddle sighed before asking about any updates that Remus hadn't relayed. 

-0-

Narcissa met them in the entrance hall, this time fashionably on time, and raised an eyebrow at Harry's escort. 

"The invitation only said I shouldn't bring Sirius," Harry pointed out with an obnoxious grin. 

Narcissa looked Bill over, then sighed. "True," she allowed before leading them into the ballroom. They were again required to walk through the anti-disguise ward, this time with no comments, then left to themselves as Narcissa returned to show more guests in. 

Riddle wasn't hard to find, as most people were still arriving, and Harry made a beeline for him. "Hello, Tom," he called, since the Dark Lord's back was turned to him. 

Riddle let out a sigh that made it clear he knew _exactly_ who was behind him and turned around with a resigned expression. When he saw Harry's chaperone, his eyebrows went up. "Potter." 

"So this is the 'Tom' you occasionally mention?" Bill asked, eyeing Riddle like he was trying to dissect him. 

Harry snapped his fingers. "Right, you two haven't, actually, been introduced. Tom, you have _got_ to stop being out of the country on the new moons," he complained, earning him an unimpressed stare from Riddle. "Bill Weasley, meet Thomas Gaunt, also known as that particular ally that Remus is assisting." 

Bill's eyes went wide and he looked between Harry and Riddle a couple times before rubbing at his eyes and muttering, "I need a drink," and walking towards the alcoholic offerings. 

Harry looked after him for a moment before glancing back at Riddle. "I promise he's usually a bit more open-minded about things." 

"A _Weasley_ , Potter," Riddle insisted. 

Harry rolled his eyes. "Good Merlin, you're nearly as bad as Lucius. Really, Tom." 

Lucius, in fact, chose that moment to approach them, looking vaguely concerned. "Mr Gaunt, Mr Potter," he greeted them. 

"Mr Malfoy," Harry replied with an easy smile. "Thank you for the invite, by the way. Clearly as unnecessary as two years ago, but I understand some people are a little nervous because of my growth spurt." 

Lucius looked at him as though he was more than a little mad. "Yes, Mr Potter," he deadpanned, " 'growth spurt' is clearly the word for you appearing to go from nine to–" he waved a hand at Harry's sixteen-year-old form "–fifteen in two years." 

Harry's smiled brightened. "Oh, good! Someone finally believes me!" He looked at Riddle, who looked distinctly amused by the faint noise of disbelief Lucius let out. "Can you believe it, Tom? _Most_ people think I used a ritual or some such. Which is absolute bollocks. I mean, I live with an _auror_. In what universe would I be stupid enough to do a ritual requiring a living sacrifice under his roof?" 

Riddle snorted. "Did you actually do the ritual under his roof?" he asked while Lucius choked. 

Harry tilted his head in thought. "Depends on how you look at it," he decided. "The doorway I walked through was in my room, but I wasn't, technically, under his roof when I did anything." 

Riddle raised his eyebrows. "Was that... _wise_?" he asked, and Harry knew he meant to ask if it had been wise to perform the ritual in the Realm of Death. 

"My absolute favourite source suggested it would be." 

Riddle scowled and let out a huff at the mention of Death, then looked at his disbelieving Death Eater. "You're dismissed, Lucius. I've no intentions to kill Potter tonight, so you can cease with your concern as to his wellbeing." 

"To be fair," Harry commented once Lucius had ducked his head and started away, "you're not particularly well-known for keeping a level head when someone pisses you off. Which I–"

"Have turned into an art form?" 

Harry considered that for a moment, then nodded. "Rather. Are you going to show me around to all those new allies you've been collecting this year?" 

Riddle snorted. "Are you going to play the idiot...what are you, officially, ten?" 

Harry rubbed his nose. "Mmhmm. Ten. I don't know. Precocious eight-year-old was one thing, especially when I could still almost pass for eight, but multi-lingual, genius ten-year-old who looks sixteen? After two years?" 

Riddle closed his eyes and rubbed at them. "Potter, people already half suspect you either got your hands on a potion of some sort or had an accident with time. At any rate, I refuse to continue dumbing myself down to whatever level of knowledge you're playing at today. It was tedious two years ago; I may actually kill you if you make me do so again this year." 

Harry snorted. "Oh, very well. But only because it's your birthday." 

Riddle twitched, then shot him a suspicious look. "This present I'll accept," he decided. 

Harry laughed and waved for Riddle to lead the way. 

They'd made the rounds after a couple of hours, chatting politely with everyone Riddle knew who was there, as well as a few people who approached them because of Harry, which Riddle seemed to appreciate. Harry avoided pretending with his intelligence, which threw more than a few representatives and Ministry officials, but it kept Riddle happy, so Harry decided to ignore the politicians' discomfort. 

At one point, Harry left to use the loo and collect a drink for himself. When he returned, he found Bill facing off across from Riddle, both of them stiff. "–see him hurt," Bill was saying as Harry got close enough for his sensitive ears to discern their conversation. "So whatever your intentions towards him are–"

"I believe, Weasley, that you have entirely the wrong impression about Potter and my–"

"Relationship?" Bill snapped out. "Cut the crap. I have eyes, and I've been watching the two of you all night. He has no fucking clue that you've been stringing him alo–"

"Ex _cuse_ me?" Riddle hissed as Harry's eyes widened, his mind going back over the night against his will. Analysing every smile – false and real – every moment they bumped shoulders, every time Riddle introduced him to someone new, the glint in his eyes every time Harry proved exactly how intelligent he was. 

Approval, yes, even fondness, but...what Bill seemed to be suggesting? 

"The boy is _ten_ , no matter how he looks," Riddle insisted. 

Bill laughed. "You actually have no idea, do you? You should ask him, one of these days, how he was cursed." 

"And I suppose you know, do you?" 

Bill shook his head. "All of it? Merlin, no. Harry keeps his secrets so close to his chest, I doubt anyone knows all of them. Certainly not me, and clearly not you." He glanced up, then, by chance, and spotted Harry. He looked vaguely panicked for a moment before putting on a cheerful smile and waving. 

Harry started forward again as Riddle turned, pasting an obnoxious smile on his face. "Hi, kids! You been behaving without me?" 

Bill snorted and moved like he was going to screw with Harry's hair, but he glared until the young man tugged lightly on his ponytail, instead. "Hey, Growly. Tom and I were just talking about the politics of goblins. Inexplicably, I turned into something of an expert when I wasn't looking." 

"Do the goblins know you're going around telling stories about them?" Harry wondered teasingly. 

Bill pinned Harry with a pointed look. "I expect so." His stare eased. "Actually, vaguely related, I'm expected in tomorrow, though I can probably wrangle an excuse by blaming you; did you want to stay until midnight, or are you ready to scoot?" 

Harry considered that for a moment, eyes drifting inexplicably towards Riddle, who was very pointedly _not_ looking at him. It hurt for a moment, that avoidance, not unlike the flicker of disappointment he'd felt every time Riddle hadn't shown up at the new moon. 

And, clearly, what he'd overheard between Bill and Riddle was screwing with his head. He needed to spend time with his pack; that would help order his thoughts. 

So he nodded. "We can go early. I'd much prefer _not_ having goblins knocking on my door because you're using my name in vain with them." Bill snorted and Harry turned to Riddle. "Tom?" 

"Potter?" Riddle returned, voice and bearing as stiff as it had been with Bill, and nothing at all like the relaxed stance Harry was used to. 

Harry clenched his hand into a fist, shoving it into a pocket in case he accidentally grew claws, and smiled brightly at him. "It seems we're off. I'll see you in a few weeks?" 

Riddle glanced away. "Perhaps." 

Harry felt something trickling across his palm and realised that, yes, he'd stabbed himself with his claws. Unfortunate. "I see," he allowed, and the words sounded weird coming out, not quite as cheerful as he'd intended. He turned away so he didn't have to see Riddle any more. "Happy birthday, Tom," he offered before jerking his head for Bill to lead the way through the crowd towards the doors. 

Back at home, Harry allowed himself a moment of pique by pulling the diadem out of its case and throwing it against the wall, then put it away and left to check on his pack.

.


	12. Eleven – Eye of the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut in this chapter is probably not as explicit as people would like, but screw you lot, it's what I managed when I got to it. (I was tired and not feeling my best at the time. And I didn't care enough to go back and add onto it after.)

Harry decided, after calming down with his pack and helping to take care of them in the morning, that he didn't actually care what Riddle's issue was, because he had far more important things to worry about, like a coven war that had broken out around Transylvania while he'd been at the party. He spent the next two weeks working with Carmilla to stop the fighting, handling the three idiots who'd started it in a manner that made everyone happy, then drawing up new territory lines. 

"And people say _werewolves_ are bad about living in proximity," Harry muttered to Carmilla at one point. 

Carmilla let out a huff. "At least _my_ people don't piss on everything to mark it as theirs." 

Harry just _looked_ at her until she flashed him a toothy grin, then he rolled his eyes and got back to work. 

When Riddle never showed up for that month's new moon, Harry was too bloody tired to even _care_ that the man was an arse. 

The fact that his werefolk, clearly having felt abandoned, spent the weeks between the January new moon and the full moon breaking out in little skirmishes over utterly stupid shit, made him _really_ not care about Riddle. 

What, exactly, was it about the winter months that made non-humans devolve into bratty, small children, anyway? 

-0-

When Riddle missed the February new moon, Harry got progressively more irritated throughout the following day – not helped by having the house completely to himself because Sirius was at the Ministry and Remus was working on things for Riddle – until he finally snapped, "Death!" 

Death appeared immediately, clearly having expected Harry's call. "Master?" it enquired, utterly calm. 

Harry closed his eyes and forced himself to take a deep breath, reminding himself that this wasn't the person he was angry with and he needed to _not_ treat Death like scum, because he honestly liked it. "Sorry," he whispered once he felt more in control of himself. 

Death's bone fingers clacked against the shaft of its scythe. "Tom has been avoiding you, Master. I understand your temper is high." 

Harry took one last deep breath, letting it out with care, and opened his eyes to look up at Death. "That doesn't mean I should be taking it out on you, however." 

Death shrugged. "I have no feelings to speak of which can become hurt, Master." 

Harry raised an eyebrow at that, uncertain how true it was, since he'd always got the impression that Death felt some degree of fondness for him, which belied any claimed lack of feelings, but he decided the matter wasn't one worth pursuing. "What is Tom's deal?" he requested. 

Death shifted, the clack of its fingers against its scythe loud in the space between them. "It was seeing you kill that vampire by ripping out its heart, and then discovering you are my Master, that had him respecting you. He was surprised to find himself fond of you after your birthday gift, as it had been many years since someone had given him something not out of politeness or to win favour. After your rather impassioned speech about how much your people meant to you, it took him a bit, but he came to realise that he felt something more than fondness for you." 

"So, killing Macnair was...a courting gift?" Harry guessed, frowning. 

Death's hood dipped to one side, like a tilted head. "He would not have called it such, but that is not an entirely inaccurate analogy. Following that, he began to take note of your physical age." 

"Yes, I recall," Harry agreed, remembering with fond amusement mocking Riddle's maths skills and him...reaching for a drink... "Oh, bloody hell. How oblivious can you get, Potter?" he muttered to himself. 

Death let out his rattling death sigh. "It was after the Yule Ball that he realised he was very much attracted to you. He tried to make himself ignore it and keep on, but eventually decided it would be better if he just avoided you entirely, especially as your enhanced ageing left his mind forming fantasies that, knowing your age, were disturbing to him." 

Harry sighed and rubbed at his face. "And so he started being out of the country for new moons. Well, I suppose it's nice to know the man has _some_ moral limits, but I'm immensely sick of them interfering in our work. I admit, it makes more sense, now, that he insisted Remus serve as his liaison, so he could keep in contact with me without, actually, needing the physical contact, but I am quite through with this forced distance–"

"Master," Death interrupted, voice slow and careful, "I would caution you to move forward with care." 

Harry snorted and stood. "I'm not afraid of Tom Riddle, Death." 

"That is not to what I am referring." Death let out a death rattle again, then bluntly explained, "You are developing attraction to him in return." 

Harry didn't even realise that he was sitting in the couch again until his fingers-turned-claws had ripped into the fabric, the sound pulling him from the blank shock that had fallen over his higher brain processes. He shook his head, opened his mouth to deny Death's words, and found his voice completely useless. 

Their plans were still moving along, possibly a little faster than before because Riddle wasn't bothering to return to England once a month. Riddle had well over two thirds of the International Confederation eating out of his palm, and people completely loyal to him in all but a handful of the major magical governments, waiting for his signal to move. Harry's own people knew who to assist in their locales when events began to unfold, and most of them were in fairly regular contact. 

Harry didn't _need_ Riddle in London, he just _wanted_ him there. He missed sharing a plate of biscuits and Riddle hissing rude comments next to him and that glint of amused exasperation that Harry so often saw in his eyes. 

"Well," he murmured before licking his lips to wet them. "That was rather an unexpected turn of events, wasn't it?" 

Death stepped forward and cupped his cheek, bringing Harry to look up into the unending darkness of its hood. "Take care, Master. I have no wish to see you hurt when you have to kill Tom." 

Because Riddle couldn't survive if they were to destroy the humans, couldn't remain alive as someone to rally behind. Harry knew it, had _planned_ for it. 

He took a deep breath and smiled at Death. "Then we do nothing. The less I see of Tom, the better. It won't be long, now, anyway." 

Death bowed its hood. "I hope you're right, Master," it said quietly, like an unwilling prophecy of heartbreak. 

Harry wondered, somewhat inanely, how many times Death had seen this particular drama play out. 

-0-

In June, Sirius offered Harry a deal: "If you can assure me that things will be moving between now and Yule, you don't have to go to Hogwarts." 

And Harry realised that, no matter how bad of an idea it might end up being, he needed to speak to Riddle, in person. And sooner, as opposed to whenever the man decided to come back to England for the new moon. Because as nice as it would be to see Neville and Hermione again, Harry honestly had no interest in being the only eighteen-year-old first year, or in suffering through the boredom of relearning all the low level spells he'd known and been able to perform since he was five. Not to mention the great joy of trying to get out of the school every time he needed to be the Alpha Lord. 

He gave Riddle one more new moon, since it was only a couple days away, then called for Death the evening of the thirteenth, after he'd officially turned in for the evening, so he wouldn't have to worry about Sirius or Remus trying to hunt him down. "Where is he?" 

"America," Death replied. "Not far outside Fairbanks, Alaska. The American representative sent him there on a wild goose chase to get him out of his hair." 

Harry raised his eyebrows at that. "What did he do?" 

"Charmed him, then turned him down when he propositioned him. The representative spent a week being so insufferable he almost gave it up as a bad job and returned for the new moon, but then he asked him to get him something in Alaska." 

Harry bit the inside of his cheek at the distinct need to punish the faceless American representative for being such a bastard to Riddle and keeping him in America when he should have been in England, then decided he didn't really care how he came off, the man was going to end up dead soon anyway. "Do me a favour and arrange a little accident for the representative?" 

Death let out its rattling sigh. "Yes, Master. Are you going to visit Tom?" 

"Yeah. We need to sort things out, and since this representative kept that from happening yesterday..." 

Death rattled another sigh and a doorway opened next to it. "I will lead you to him," it promised, clearly resigning itself to Harry's bad choices. 

Harry decided to ignore that and followed Death through the shadowed realm to where a new doorway opened to what was, apparently, the other side of the world, though they could only have been walking for six minutes, at the most. (The physics of the Realm of Death and how it connected to Earth were one massive headache that Harry tried his best not to think on too often.) 

Riddle was standing in the middle of what seemed to be a forest, the sun beating down on him, but the temperature actually fairly nice. Water could be heard moving past them on all sides at a slight distance, suggesting Riddle was on some sort of island in the centre of, Harry suspected, a river. Riddle was wearing muggle clothing, a tight t-shirt and shorts, which were both mind-boggling, and slightly distracting. (Harry did, after all, now possess the sex drive of a seventeen-year-old.) 

"Potter," Riddle bit out, arms crossed over his chest, wand tapping his arm and shoulder in a rapid rhythm that suggested at his irritation at the interruption. "What do you want?" 

"You're on a wild goose chase," Harry informed him drily as the doorway closed behind him. "Death suggested you got sent out here for hurting the representative's feelings. Or cock-blocking him, actually, may be a more accurate description." 

Riddle choked and very obviously looked away. 

Harry rolled his eyes and looked around for somewhere he could sit before giving in and just conjuring a chair. "At any rate, I wouldn't bother, as the man is going to die soon, so you can just change your focus to whoever replaces him–"

"Arrange something, Potter?" Riddle suggested coolly. "You realise that setting any of your people on the man–"

"Setting Death on people tends to end in heart attacks, more than questions, in my experience, so I wouldn't be concerned about the non-humans or yourself facing any sort of backlash. Sit down, we need to talk." 

"If King is soon to not be a problem, I–" Riddle started. 

"Tom, I am about two seconds from throwing a Killing Curse at you," Harry warned, because he was honestly _done_ with this avoidance game. "Sit. _Down_."

Riddle stared at him for a moment, expression caught somewhere between disbelief and fury, before he very obviously conjured himself a throne-like chair and settled in it with a sneer. "Talk, then, boy," he ordered. 

Harry rolled his eyes and took a moment to change his chair into a long couch, then stretched out along it, clearly showing he was not interested in playing 'Who's the more important Lord'. "Sirius told me a couple of days ago that, if I could promise we were going to move against the Ministry by Yule, I didn't have to attend Hogwarts. Which is to my preference for multiple reasons, not least of which is how much of an absolute _pain_ it would prove to be to have to leave in the middle of the day because there's another territory dispute that needs a mediator." 

Riddle closed his eyes. "While I admit your current duties would make Hogwarts difficult and you seem to have much of the knowledge already, I would have expected you'd jump at the chance to spend time with children your own age–"

"That was how I ended up friends with the Weasleys," Harry shot back, irritated, "and while it's true enough I'm fond of them, Ron and Ginny drive me completely insane most of the time because they're so much younger than me." 

"Looking–" Riddle waved an ineffective hand at Harry, throat moving in a swallow as he looked him over before he turned away. "Potter, you are _eleven_."

Harry snorted. "Bill was right, you really have no idea." 

Riddle stared at him for a moment, meeting Harry's amused gaze, before biting out, "How were you turned, Potter?" 

Harry considered that for a moment, then returned, "How was I turned the first time, or how did I receive the curse when I was four?" 

"...what?" was Riddle's eventual response. 

Harry sighed and folded his hands over his stomach, casual-like. Like a part of him wasn't screaming inside at sharing a secret that only Sirius, Remus, Kreacher, and Pinky knew in anything like its entirety, because even Bill knew only a highly-edited version of the truth. And, even then, Sirius and Remus had no idea about the true scope of his relation to Death – and what Kreacher and Pinky knew there was their own business – though Riddle already did. "About a week before my fifth birthday, I gained the memories and curse of a twenty-seven year old version of me. He'd destroyed all your horcruxes, finished school, and was an auror. When he was twenty-two, he was cursed, and he spent the five years until he was murdered by a co-worker the morning after the full moon, fighting for werewolf rights." 

"That's how," Riddle breathed. " _That_ was how you knew." 

"Yes." 

Riddle closed his eyes and breathed in, slow and controlled, before letting it out and looking back at Harry. "You were the Master of Death then, I assume." 

"Incidentally," Harry agreed. "Death gave me the option to replant myself in the body of a younger version of myself in another reality. I would retain everything, even my curse." He shrugged and glanced down. "Given, the younger body was irritating, but that ritual rather solved the problem, don't you think?" 

Riddle's eyes narrowed and he didn't bother with subtle as he gave Harry a look over. "Yes, it seems to have served your purpose. You now almost look as old as you act." 

Harry snorted. "So you understand why I have no interest in playing student at Hogwarts if I don't have to for the sake of appearances. If we could move on things, I'd appreciate it." 

Riddle very obviously changed tracks, his gaze looking to one side for a moment before he looked back at Harry, entirely business-like. "I have enough people in the governments that would put up the greatest fights, to finish them now, so long as your people can assist. I would like to get Dumbledore out of the way first, as a sign for everyone else to act, if nothing else." 

"And it'd rather take the fight out of many of them," Harry agreed. 

Riddle smirked. "Rather." His expression turned more thoughtful. "I expect you'll have knowledge of who best to leave in charge of Hogwarts?" 

Harry rubbed his chin. "Well, McGonagall took over after Dumbledore died when I was sixteen. She was, however, a rather fierce fighter when incited to rise up against your army when they attacked the school, as were many of the current professors. Take out the Heads of House and Dumbledore, and put people you trust in those vacated positions, and we should be able to keep Hogwarts." Not that it would matter, in the long term, though Harry could see turning it into a school for non-humans and allowing the humans to attend. Something to look into after Riddle and his people were out of the way and the bloodshed had settled down. 

Riddle waved a careless hand at him. "I'll leave filling the vacant posts to you; as previously discussed, I don't have the people for it." He snorted. "If we finish this before September, you can send your school-aged non-humans to the nearest magical institution." 

"For those actually able to cast magic," Harry agreed. "Those who can't usually attend muggle schools." 

Riddle huffed. "I suppose I'll have to leave some of those around, then, when we finally turn to destroying the muggles." 

"I suppose so," Harry agreed, though he doubted Riddle would live long enough to see that dream come true. "Or we could always do the unthinkable and introduce such subjects as maths and language into the magical curriculum. If nothing else, the professors will thank us as the drivel students turn in in the way of written work improves." 

Riddle made a face, then snorted. "You may have a point. I don't care either way; manage Hogwarts and the other magical institutions as you see fit. If, however, someone complains because they don't like the muggle education, I will send them to you." 

Harry flashed him a smile that was all teeth. "That's fine. I have an 'Agree with me or I serve you up for Death' policy." 

Riddle let out a laugh that sounded startled, his eyes practically dancing. "How were you _ever_ an auror, with that attitude?" he asked, clearly amused. 

Harry's smile darkened. "Death changes you, Tom; I haven't been auror material for quite some time now." 

"No," Riddle agreed quietly, "I suppose you haven't." 

They stared at each other for a long moment, lost each to their own thoughts, a gulf between them that seemed almost insurmountable. 

"Did you have a specific timeframe for managing this?" Riddle asked into the gulf, and it vanished, as though the words were a spell meant to bring them closer. "Recalling that the sun is always lighting half the planet at a time." 

Harry snorted and sat up, bringing his legs up to wrap his arms around them. "A problem for the vampires, but if we aim for a day or two before the full moon, the werefolk will be effective enough to cover for their lack, especially in those areas where other non-humans can join the fight." He grimaced, something occurring to him. "I would plan for the sun to be on America, I think; there are some non-humans here that I'm not fond of, but can get to join our fight." 

"America-only non-humans?" Riddle asked. 

"Be grateful," Harry suggested before shaking his head. "I'll handle them this week. The full moon is the twenty-seventh; if we aim for the twenty-fourth or the twenty-fifth, that would be my preference." 

Riddle rubbed a hand over his lips, gaze distant. "That's acceptable," he decided, nodding. "We'll deal with Dumbledore the evening of the twenty-fourth, then plan for the main attack to follow right after?" 

Harry thought that over, considering the pros and cons of waiting a few hours between Dumbledore's death and the attack. "I can see two options," he finally said out loud, and Riddle raised an eyebrow at him. "The first is that we start the battle immediately following Dumbledore's death and the announcement drains the fight from them, giving us an easy victory – at least in Europe – but we chance missing people who would begin a rebellion because they didn't move fast enough to join the battle. Option two is that we kill Dumbledore in the afternoon, give the news a few hours to get around, let people know you're back, then fall upon the Ministries while they're in a state of preparedness, taking out most of our opposition in one fell swoop, yet facing people prepared for us." 

Riddle frowned and took a moment to think that over. "It was rebellion that destroyed my army last time?" 

"Essentially," Harry agreed with a careless shrug of his shoulders. "But the Order had organised before Dumbledore's death, so they were the brunt of said rebellion, with myself serving as icon." He made a face at the memory. "That shouldn't be a problem right now, and there's the bonus of no one knowing you're even alive, save for your followers and allies. Which, again, chances missing some potential rebellion members, but people are always going to look to change the government; it's simply a fact of life." 

"Case in point, we're actually discussing this," Riddle added and Harry chuckled. "I'll think about our options and let you know my decision by Monday. Either way, I expect the brunt of the attack to occur at about sunset in London. Whenever that is." 

Harry flicked his hand to one side, casting wandlessly to call up the time of sunset on the twenty-fourth of June. "Eight fifty-six. The vampires won't be able to make it until at least five minutes after, and that's only if they're in London or to the east of it. We can say twenty fifty and the vampires will make it as they can. Something of a second wave, if necessary." 

Riddle shrugged. "They're your people. If they won't mind playing second wave, we'll begin the attack early and have them join as they can." 

Harry snorted as he waved his spell's findings away. "Most of the vampires live on the continent, anyway, so they won't matter much in London. Assuming, as I am, that you intend for this attack to occur at the same moment worldwide?" 

"That was my intention, yes," Riddle agreed. 

"Then a little before sunset in London is more than acceptable. I'll make sure word is spread among my people, if you'll manage yours?" 

"Of course. And you'll manage your vampire alternatives in America?" 

Harry grimaced, reminded he'd have to treat with the wendigos, assuming he could find them. Death would know, and probably insist on coming along, since the last time Harry had met one, he was almost turned into one. "Yes. If your American or Canadian followers ask, I'm sending them wendigos." 

Riddle's face twisted with disgust, suggesting he was actually familiar with the spirit-possessed beings. 

"Oh, good. I don't have to explain the reactions you're going to get," Harry commented, amused. "I'll ensure they only eat the enemy, though it may require not getting the chance to bury some bodies in anything approaching humane condition." 

"Are you sure you'll be safe interacting with them?" Riddle demanded, and he looked honestly worried about that. 

Harry blinked, then shook his head. "The last time one tried attacking me, Death handled it. I'll be fine." He tapped his chin while Riddle muttered something about the stupidity of trusting the avatar of Death to keep one alive. "Was that everything of importance?" 

"I can't think of anything else," Riddle decided before standing from his ridiculously regal chair. He took a moment to stretch, shirt pulling up and revealing his belly and a trail of dark hair. 

Harry closed his eyes as his hormones jumped gleefully to life. He fought with himself for approximately five seconds before deciding bad choices were something of a habit of his and getting up to stalk forward, eyes narrowed at the underdressed Dark Lord. 

Riddle stiffened. "Potter," he warned. 

"I am not a child, and I am tired of playing games with your twisted idea of a moral code," Harry informed him as he caught a hand in Riddle's shirt. "I am tired of you avoiding me, Tom, and it will make the future exceedingly difficult if you continue to do so. So either get over your reticence or get over your–"

A mouth on his swallowed the rest of his sentence, and Harry closed his eyes and leant into the Dark Lord, letting out a pleased growl when long fingers threaded into his hair and _pulled_.

Then Riddle pulled back, and when Harry glared up at him, he found truly-red eyes staring down at him, bright with a hunger that had Harry's cock jumping to attention. Or would have, had it not already been there. "Walk away, Potter," Riddle whispered, voice rough. "Walk away now, or I will fuck you until you can't breathe any more. Walk away now, or _never_ walk away." 

There was a moment, staring into eyes the colour of the blood he would very soon be spilling from this very man, where Harry actually thought he would be better off leaving, would be better off getting out while he still could. 

But then the moment was gone and he flashed Riddle a too-sharp smile and said, "I'm not the one who's been avoiding the object of my attraction, Tom." 

"You and that damn name," Riddle snarled before the hand in Harry's hair forced him up onto his toes, meeting Riddle's – unnecessarily tall bastard – mouth again in a clash of tongue and teeth that were probably a little too sharp, but Riddle didn't pull away and Harry wasn't quite enough with it to pull them in.

And then, with only a rough full-body squeeze of warning, they were falling back onto a bed, and Riddle pulled back to pull his shirt off in a ridiculously attractive, fluid motion. "You're a virgin?" he assumed and Harry nodded. "And before?" Riddle asked, hands resting on the bottom edge of Harry's shirt and marking distracting points of contact against Harry's hips. 

He forced himself to focus on the question. "With a man, yes, but I was experienced with a woman," he managed in a surprisingly even voice. 

"Only one, Harry?" Riddle breathed, his eyes glinting with amusement. "I'm shocked." Then he tugged off Harry's shirt, the motion rough enough that it set his rings clinking against his chin before they slid down the chain and out of sight behind him. (Probably for the best, all things considered.) 

"I was a different man," Harry insisted. "She was my sweetheart in school." 

Riddle came to a stop, hovering above him, eyes narrowed. "And now?" he asked, a growl in the words. 

_'I seem to collect possessive people with a penchant for murder,'_ Harry thought, a bit inanely. "I've almost given in to the urge to throttle her more than a few times; she's so obnoxiously young." 

Riddle smirked, clearly pleased with this, and gave a vague wave of his hand to vanish the rest of their clothing, showing off his own grasp of wandless magic. 

Then, before Harry's mind could fully wrap itself around the fact that he was _naked_ and in bed with an _equally naked_ Tom Riddle, one long-fingered hand curled around his cock and gave it two quick pumps, which was all it took for Harry to come hard, mind blanking out for a moment at the rush of pleasure. 

"A little less claws, Potter," Riddle requested drily after a moment. 

Harry swallowed and forced his hands to return to human ones and pulled them away from where they'd gripped Riddle's arms. Blood trickled from the tiny puncture wounds he left, and he winced, twice as embarrassed, now. "Sorry. That was–"

"Not nearly as unexpected as you'd like to pretend," Riddle interrupted, eyes glinting with amusement. Then he pulled back slightly, wand summoned to his hand so he could heal his wounds. "Turn over. I distinctly recall saying I'd fuck you until you couldn't breathe." 

Harry choked on a laugh and did as he was told, one hand catching his rings and ensuring they followed him around so they remained out of Riddle's sight. "If you really think you can pull that off against a werewolf." 

Riddle stretched out over him, skin pressed tight to skin, his weight surprisingly comfortable against Harry's back. "Oh, I fully intend to try, my Sol," he murmured into Harry's ear, voice darkened with promise, and Harry couldn't stop a moan. 

It turned out, in the end, that Riddle was more than capable of making a werewolf breathless.

-0-

Harry spent that week running around and speaking to the leaders of every non-human group he could find in each country, letting them know when the attack would start and ensuring they knew which humans were their allies for the moment. He did leave the European vampires to Carmilla, lessening his workload, but with Remus busy with Riddle's business, he had to handle the werefolk himself. (Which wasn't a problem; he knew they preferred hearing from him personally, and it was always good to catch up with those whom he didn't see regularly.) He saved the wendigos for last, and while Death wasn't a physical presence at his back, he knew it was close enough to come to his aid if he couldn't manage the cannibals on his own. Thankfully, they didn't prove much of a problem, though Harry did have to take a page out of Riddle's book and cast a few crucios to make it clear he wasn't there to serve as a meal. 

As for relations with Riddle, well. He maybe, possibly, hunted him down every other night or so and let himself be dragged down into whatever bed Riddle was staying in right then, as he was doing his own rounds and had plenty of people willing to offer him a room for the night. Harry knew Death had been right to warn him away, because Riddle was like a drug, far too addictive and certain to lead to the absolute worst of crashes when he had to end things. But, like facing off against an incoming bludger with snitch between them, just because he recognised the danger, didn't mean Harry could turn away. 

On the afternoon of the twenty-fourth, Harry and Riddle met in Hogsmeade, both wearing heavy cloaks to hide their identities. Harry knew Riddle would be removing his soon enough, revealing the transfiguration work he'd done to make himself look like the Voldemort the magical world expected. Harry, however, would be remaining under his cloak, hood magically darkened so only his eyes, glowing golden, could be seen. His hands and teeth were both also stuck between forms, disguising his voice and letting him gesture without chancing anyone figuring out who he was; as much as it would destroy Dumbledore to find that Harry had chosen to side with Riddle, he much preferred the anonymity that the Alpha Lord had thus far kept. 

Dumbledore didn't take long to arrive, having been called down by Fawkes, who was flying above him. When Harry raised an arm, however, the phoenix flew to him and settled there, making Dumbledore slow to a stop. 

Riddle took that chance to push his hood back, revealing blood-red eyes, a flattened nose, bald head, and paper-white skin. "Hello, Dumbledore," he offered, the words hissing slightly past his teeth. 

Dumbledore tensed and went for his wand. "Tom." 

Riddle glanced back towards Harry, cocking one hairless eyebrow at him. Harry shrugged. "He's yours, Voldemort. I'll handle any attempts at interference." 

Riddle flashed him a mean little smile, then turned back to Dumbledore, who was watching them curiously. "My partner, Alpha Lord Sol." 

"Partner, Tom?" 

**:What is it with you two and that name?:** Riddle hissed angrily, clearly having hit his limit at playing pleasantry, before he threw out a curse. 

True to his word, Harry kept his eyes on the surrounding crowd they had drawn, disarming anyone who drew a wand to join the fight. Fawkes remained with him, balanced easily on Harry's left arm and staring sadly at the battle, an occasional tear dripping from his eyes. 

The battle only took a little over five minutes before Dumbledore was crumpling in a wash of green. Fawkes let out a mournful cry from Harry's arm and turned to press his head against Harry's shoulder. Riddle turned to look with a sneer, but before he could comment, someone broke from the crowd with an anguished cry and pelted towards the Dark Lord. 

Harry flicked an absent Killing Curse at the attacker, dropping Aberforth Dumbledore as effectively as Riddle had just done his elder brother, and offered, "I have a promise to see to, but I will meet you when I'm done." 

Riddle narrowed his eyes. "What did you promise the bird, Sol?" 

Harry just smiled in the darkness of his hood and glanced towards Fawkes' slumped form. "If you will please transport us, Fawkes?" 

Riddle snarled and apparated away barely a beat before Fawkes cloaked Harry and himself in fire. 

When the fire cleared, Harry was standing outside of a heavy iron door. A violent slash of the Elder Wand saw it crumbling to rubble and he stepped over the metal chunks into the darkened cell. 

"Albus?" a rough voice called. 

Harry pushed his hood back, allowing his mouth and teeth to return to their human shape, as the disguise was unnecessary for the moment. "He's dead. I've come to send you after." 

"And you are?" Grindelwald enquired, appearing unbothered by his soon-to-be demise. (Not that Harry had expected anything else from a man who had long been defeated and sat, now, in exile.) 

"Death's Master," Harry replied and Grindelwald's eyes widened. "Yes, I rather managed on accident what you and Dumbledore failed." Not true in this reality, but true of his original mastery. He shook his head. "I made a deal with Fawkes that if he didn't interfere in Dumbledore's death, I would finish you shortly after. If I may?" he requested, holding up the Elder Wand, which had reverted to the form that Grindelwald would be more familiar with. 

Grindelwald smiled and closed his eyes. "As you please, Master," he agreed. 

Harry cocked an eyebrow at that, but cast the Killing Curse all the same, lighting the dark cell with a wash of green spellfire and leaving his victim resting peacefully against the wall. "It seems, Fawkes," he murmured as the sounds of guards filtered up to his sensitive ears from far below, "that our deal has been settled. You are free to do with the rest of your life as you see fit." 

_"You will not demand my assistance in either of your coming battles?"_ Fawkes enquired, head tilted curiously to one side. 

Harry shrugged. "I would certainly not refuse it, but I do make a point to avoid demanding anything of any of my people." Not that he wouldn't stoop to threatening those who proceeded to give him trouble, but that was a separate matter in his mind. 

_"You are a good man, Alpha Lord,"_ Fawkes informed him, and Harry offered a tired smile. _"We shall see what assistance I choose to give,"_ he decided before pushing off from Harry's arm and vanishing in a flash of fire. 

Harry stared into the empty space for a moment before sighing and pulling his hood back up. "Well then," he murmured to himself, "let's see about cutting down Germany's fighting force some, shall we?" Then he was off to clear Nurmengard of anything human. 

-0-

Giving word time to get around meant, as Harry suspected, that far more people who were willing to fight were out and about when they made their run at the Ministry. 

Or, well, Riddle took the Ministry. Remus and Sirius rounded up Diagon Alley, while Harry and the non-humans from the Forbidden Forest brought Hogsmeade to their knees, not that they put up much of a fight. When he discovered the Hogwarts staff had gathered in the school, Harry requested that a couple of the acromantula collect Hagrid if he was in his cabin, then sent a group of centaurs to knock on the front doors and distract the professors while Harry used the Realm of Death to sneak in. 

It turned out he needn't have bothered, as the house-elves had politely tied up the staff and were generally celebrating their victory. He just stood in the doorway of the Great Hall for a long moment and watched them, entirely too amused, but the sound of arrows thudding against the barred main doors reminded him he was there for a reason. 

He gave a slow, completely unironic clap as he strode in, smiling beneath the shadows of his hood. "It's sort of funny," he commented as the lot of them came to attention and either bowed or saluted, whichever was their preference, "that humans have dismissed house-elves as a simple fact of life, completely forgetting that they are quite equal to them in terms of power." 

One of the house-elves stepped forward, her tea towel freshly pressed and an upturned goblet serving as an awkward hat. "Alpha Lord, Gracie is being head of Hogwarts house-elves." 

Harry politely dropped to one knee in front of her. "It's an honest pleasure to meet you, Gracie," he replied. 

Gracie's eyes went wide for a moment, then she jumped forward, her goblet clattering to the floor behind her, and hugged Harry around the neck. 

He let out a startled laugh and hugged her back for a moment before gently pushing her away. "Forgive the minor rush, but it seems we have centaurs beating at the door, and I expect they will soon be joined by some acromantula. If someone could please let them in, I would appreciate it." 

Gracie gave a quick nod and turned to start giving orders, sending three house-elves to manage the doors, while another ten were sent to raid the hospital wing for anything they might need if it turned out someone was wounded. Four were sent to the kitchens to boil water and make sure no one had left anything that might explode down there. 

Harry chuckled and picked up the goblet to change its shape into something that would actually stay on Gracie's head. "I think, my dear, that this belongs to you," he offered when she stopped for a breath. 

Gracie ducked her head and accepted it with a quiet, "Thank you, Lord." 

He shook his head and looked over the crowd of house-elves left. "Can I have three of you deliver messages for me? I expect things may be a little more hectic where you're going, but I trust you can handle yourselves fine." 

Hands went up and Gracie let out an exasperated sigh. "Pickles, Turnip, Laddie." The three named house-elves stepped forward, all looking excited. Turnip looked like he was an adolescent, while Pickles and Laddie both looked to be a fair bit older, but just as bouncy as Turnip. 

"Pickles," Harry said, "I need you to go to Diagon Alley and find either Sirius Black or Remus Lupin, preferably not while they're getting spells shot at them. Let them know Hogsmeade is under control, as is Hogwarts. If they've got anyone who needs a healer, bring word back of how many and we'll see about transporting them here, as I expect St Mungo's will be too overrun,otherwise. Laddie, I need you to find Voldemort at the Ministry and tell him the same thing. Turnip, I need you to go into Hogsmeade and find the centaur named Magorian. Let him know Hogwarts has been handled, assuming no one's run back to tell him already, and have him send the thestral, two centaurs, and anyone else who was wounded since I left up here." 

"Yes, Alpha Lord!" all three got out in a garbled mess before vanishing with loud pops. 

Gracie sighed. "Gracie is being sorry for them, Alpha Lord," she offered. 

Harry shook his head. "There's nothing to apologise for, Gracie. Now, if any of your people know anything about medicines or treating wounds, I would appreciate them removing to the infirmary, or perhaps setting up shop on the front steps, so the wounded don't have to walk as far. Meanwhile, I need to deal with these humans; if anyone isn't comfortable watching them die, tell them to leave now." 

"Yes, Alpha Lord," Gracie agreed quietly, clearly saddened at the thought of some of the professors dying. 

Harry got back to his feet and stepped easily around the dispersing crowd of house-elves, towards where the professors had been left in a pile on the dais where the Head Table usually sat. "Hello, professors," he offered in a quiet voice. "I'm Sol, the Alpha Lord." He glanced over their expressions, smiling within his hood to see that Hagrid and Flitwick both understood the meaning of his title. "Rubeus, Filius," he murmured, "you have a choice here." Then he motioned with his Wand and vanished their gags. 

"Yer working with You-Know-Who!" Hagrid shouted. "Ain't ye?" 

Harry dipped his head. "I am indeed." 

"I'll never serve a Lord who stands at his side!" the half-giant declared before thrashing in his bonds. 

Harry sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that," he admitted before motioning and opening a doorway into the Realm of Death beneath him, having no interest in seeing how many Killing Curses his magic-resistant skin could survive. "Flitwick?" 

The part-goblin stared at Harry for a long moment before closing his eyes and ducking his head. "I follow you, Alpha Lord," he whispered, and a couple other staff members let out angry noises. 

Harry took a moment to consider that, letting his werewolf senses search out any hint of lies, then nodded and waved the professor free. "Good. If you'll assist the house-elves in seeing to the wounded, I would appreciate it." 

Flitwick swallowed, then asked, "And everyone else, Alpha Lord?" he requested, glancing back towards his bound co-workers. 

Harry shrugged. "I am not Voldemort," he replied and everyone flinched. "I'm willing to give anyone who will work with me a chance. We need educators, and it seems we already have a ready supply, though I'm certain I can fill any holes that may make themselves known." He looked over the line of professors, amused at how few of them would meet his half-hidden gold eyes. 

Of the nine professors and two non-teaching members of staff laid out before him, McGonagall, Sinistra, Sprout, Vector, and Trelawney were all killed. Pomfrey, Kettleburn, and Burbage were all sent out to help with the wounded – which, according to the house-elf reports he received, were indeed coming in from both the Ministry and Diagon, as those battles wound down – while Slughorn was sent to collect any healing potions from his office and start on brewing more of whatever they needed most, and Babbling was sent up to the Head office to see if she could figure out how to tweak the wards to let people apparate into the grounds. 

Filch was made to stay behind so Harry could lay out some ground rules with him in regards to managing any incoming non-human students and working with the house-elves. 

Almost the minute Harry waved Filch away, Riddle stepped into the Great Hall, wearing his Voldemort guise. Filch let out a terrified noise and shrank to one side, then scurried out the doors as Riddle passed him. "You let the squib live?" he demanded. 

"I am far too fed up with humanity and your categories right now, Tom," Harry warned him, reaching into his hood to rub tiredly at his eyes. Just because he'd steeled himself against the need, didn't mean murdering some of his professors hadn't hurt, especially when Sinistra had started to spew hatred about non-humans; he'd actually sort of liked the woman as a student, despite the late hour of her class and how tedious it got looking at the same stars year in and year out. 

Riddle stopped in front of him and pushed Harry's hood back, smirking at his scowl. "Do cease, Sol. It hardly matters if anyone recognises you at this venture." 

Harry thought of the battles still to come, the second war Riddle didn't even know was brewing on the horizon, and let out a snort to hide the way his chest clenched. "Likewise, snake-face." 

Riddle chuckled and obediently waved his wand at himself, changing his appearance back to the one that had become so familiar over the years; enemy, ally, friend, lover. And soon to be...what? Victim? 

Harry shook his head, dislodging his grim thoughts. "We're not done yet," he reminded Riddle. "Have you heard any word from the rest of your people yet?" 

"Some, all good. I believe Lupin has updates for you, but he's with Black." 

Harry stiffened. "Sirius was hurt?" he demanded. 

Riddle sighed and turned to lead the way outside. "He took a bone-crusher to the arm while trying to protect a wounded werelynx, from what I heard. He will survive." 

_'And being turned into a vampire will fix any resulting weakness in that arm,'_ Harry reminded himself, even as they stepped out into the organised chaos of wounded being seen to. With his hood down and Riddle in his human form, they went largely unnoticed in the maelstrom, letting them get to Remus and Sirius unmolested. "They tell me you'll live, despite your rather unfortunate Gryffindor tendencies," Harry commented as he stopped next to Sirius' elbow. 

Sirius made a face at him. "Cute, pup." 

"You're unharmed?" Remus requested, eyes raking down Harry's robed form. 

Harry snorted. "The most excitement I had was watching the Hogwarts house-elves doing a victory dance around the staff members they'd bound before I even arrived." 

Sirius covered his face with his good hand to muffle his slightly loopy giggles. 

Harry raised an eyebrow at him, only to turn to Riddle when the man drily commented, "Perhaps we should make posters: Abuse your house-elves and they'll enact a tribal dance for your pleasure." 

"More like for _their_ pleasure, I would think," Remus returned, shaking his head. "Alpha, I have reports from a number of international parties, and I believe Magorian has some as well." 

Harry sighed. "Yeah, okay. Let's convene in Hagrid's cottage then, for Magorian's sake." Because he saw no point in making the centaur leader climb into the school when there was a relatively secluded place where the humans could sit down on the grounds. "Turnip!" 

The house-elf appeared at his side, a golden bowl overturned on his head and a butter knife shoved into a bit of twine that had been tied around his waist. Sirius started giggling again while Remus let out a startled snort and looked away. "Alpha Lord bes calling Turnip?" the house-elf asked with a straight face. 

Harry knelt in front of the house-elf and gently took the bowl. "Let's fit this to you a bit better, hm?" he suggested, earning a scoff from Riddle. He ignored the other three wizards to shrink and reshape the bowl a bit, then set it back on Turnip's head. "Perfect," he decided. 

"Thank you, Alpha Lord!" Turnip squeaked, throwing himself against Harry for a hug, which Harry returned with a quiet laugh. 

"Sol, some time tonight, if you please," Riddle said, and Harry knew the man well enough to know that he'd wanted to make it an order, but had refrained so as to move things along. 

Harry rolled his eyes at the Dark Lord. "Turnip, can you tell Magorian that I'd appreciate it if he met us at Hagrid's cottage for a debrief?" 

"Turnip will!" the house-elf declared before vanishing. 

"You collect the crazy ones," Riddle muttered as Harry stood. 

Harry snorted. "Not necessarily, but it is the unfortunate truth of extended slavery, that many house-elves tend to turn a bit loopy when given the allowance to act any way they please. Kreacher, who's the only house-elf actually bonded to me, is perfectly calm." 

"Unless he's in the same room as Sirius," Remus muttered as he helped said animagus to his feet. 

"Yes, well, then they both revert to toddlers and start slinging insults," Harry replied with a negligent wave of his hand. 

"Sol," Riddle said, sounding exasperated, as they all started towards the cottage, "if you have a sane house-elf, why do I never see him?" 

Harry covered his mouth and glanced over at the man. "Please tell me you don't actually want me to answer that." 

"Why?" Riddle demanded, shooting him a glare. 

"He does it to piss you off," Sirius announced. " _Duh_."

When Riddle narrowed his eyes at Harry, he held up his forefinger and thumb pressed together. "To be fair," he added when Riddle pulled out his wand, "at the time, you were avoiding me." Which was true, because most of their communication before Riddle's extended leave either went through owls, or was discussed on the new moon. 

Riddle proceeded to tell Harry, in Parseltongue, exactly how he was going to get him back, and Harry had to duck his head to hide his flush, which just made Riddle go into excruciating detail. 

"Shut up, bastard," Harry finally ordered as they reached the cottage, reaching up with one hand to cover his face. "Merlin." 

Thankfully, Magorian showed up, then, and the unimpressed stare he shot the Dark Lord shut Riddle up, if only so he could stare back. 

Shortly thereafter, the Hogwarts house-elves had provided them with refreshments and they were comparing reports from other groups around the world, new reports coming in via owl or house-elf every ten minutes or so. The news was all good. They'd won over the whole magical world in one fell swoop, with only minor pockets of resistance to be hunted down still. It was the victory they'd all hoped for. 

Harry felt sick.

.


	13. Twelve – No Regrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts with smut that my brain supplied as I was going to sleep one night. (My brain then followed that up with the realisation that this fic is going to end in tears, which rather ruined the moment, but since pulling at heartstrings seems to be my muse's speciality...)
> 
> Of note, there is a minor switch to Tom's PoV near the start of this chapter, because I needed that conversation to happen, but it's not one Harry could be part of, so...
> 
> Also of note, this chapter is both the last one, and the shortest of the lot. Sorry about that. (The short bit, not that it's the end. I like this end. But it is about 300 – 900 on FFN – words shorter than I usually prefer for my chapters. So, yeah, sorry about that. *blames ch 11's inability to end*)

Harry bit back a whimper as he slammed into the wall, face-first. Riddle came to stand behind him, pressing in close and hot, and breathed into his ear, "If I didn't know any better, Sol, I'd think you were _avoiding_ me." 

Harry closed his eyes, because he totally was, but he wasn't about to admit to it, so he scoffed and pushed against the wall just enough to suggest that he'd like to move away now. "Don't be ridiculous. You're the one who said you didn't want to touch the schools and then focussed all your attention on the British Ministry. Just because _you_ are stuck in one country–" He fell silent with a gasp as both of their clothing vanished, Riddle's cock coming up to nestle against the crack of his arse. "Cheat," he complained. 

"I don't like your excuses," Riddle informed him. "As you pointed out to me, we possess apparation, and _you_ have your mad little doorways; distance is hardly a factor, and time zones are a minor hurdle." A hand slid around in front of him, long fingers wrapping around his cock in a way that had become all too familiar in the past month. 

"Tom," Harry heard himself whisper, more plea than demand. He didn't want to talk about his avoidance, hadn't meant to even _see_ Riddle today, except the bastard had to go and hunt him down. And slam him into a wall. And–

Riddle's free hand pushed Harry towards the left slightly, then raised his right leg, the arm curling around to his front helping to brace Harry against the shift in balance. "Hold that," he ordered. 

"You're _trying_ to kill me," Harry complained even as he extracted his claws from the wall – he'd have to remember to repair it before he checked out of the hotel – and caught his leg under the knee. 

"If I was trying to kill you, my Sol, you wouldn't be naked," Riddle pointed out just before two fingers pressed into Harry. More sudden than he was used to, after almost a week of absence, but he welcomed the burn. 

"I'm not sure I believe you about that," Harry managed to get out before Riddle pressed hard against his prostate and Harry's body decided to prove how near the end of his rope he was by climaxing. 

Riddle chuckled in his ear, warm and low, and his fingers withdrew. "At least I know you haven't been testing your minions for possible mates while you've been away," he murmured. 

Harry grimaced. "Bastard." 

He didn't say, 'How could _anyone_ replace you?' or 'Not all of us can so easily pretend our heart isn't involved in our dalliances', though he could have. And if he wasn't watching the hangman's noose approach his lover's neck, his own hand destined to drop the floor beneath him, he might well have, because he didn't believe in hiding the extent of his affection for another. 

Riddle entered him, too rough, and yet entirely perfect, groaning into Harry's ear and helping to support Harry's leg, fingers lacing carefully between Harry's quasi-claws. (He _really_ needed to get a handle on that particular reaction to sex.) 

Their laced fingers was the only sign of gentleness, as Riddle pounded into him hard and fast, trusting in Harry's natural durability and improved healing to keep him in one piece no matter how rough Riddle got. And Harry, trapped with a noose in one hand and an axe in the other, pressed back against his lover, needing the abuse, the burn of pain up his spine. 

Dumbledore had been right, in that other reality: There are worse things than Death. 

-0-

"Was that a goodbye fuck?" a voice asked snidely as soon as Voldemort snuck back into his London flat. Smack-dab in the middle of muggle London, because no one would be stupid enough to look for him there. Except for Potter, probably, and his most terrifying servant. 

"Your disapproval has been noted and filed into the 'I really don't give a fuck' drawer," he informed the apparation that had appeared in the middle of his sparse living room. 

"...you've been spending too much time with my Master," Death decided, fingers clicking rhythmically against its scythe. 

"I'd be spending more if he wasn't _avoiding me_ ," Voldemort snarled, disgusted. 

"What is that phrase Master so enjoys?" Death wondered, one bone finger tapping against the front of its shadowed hood, like a normal person would tap on their chin or lips. "Oh, yes, ' _pot, meet kettle_ '." 

Voldemort stalked into his tiny kitchen and flicked his wand at the kettle, setting it whistling. He knew he hardly had any ground to stand on in this, not after he'd spent _over a year_ avoiding Potter, and the boy – man? Age designations were nothing but a headache in Potter's case – had only been doing it for a week, but _still_. He had never said he wasn't a hypocrite. In fact, Potter took great pleasure in pointing out how much of a hypocrite Voldemort was at every chance he got. 

"You didn't answer me," Death said, appearing the the doorway without seeming to have changed his stance. "Were you saying goodbye?" 

Voldemort sneered. "Now why would I be saying goodbye to that brat?" 

Death let out an odd little rattling breath that set the hair at the back of Voldemort's neck on end; how Potter could stand the apparition, he'd never understand. Merlin, the werewolf even let Death _touch him_! "Play my Master the fool if it pleases you, but don't think me so deluded; you've known how this would end for years." 

Voldemort stared down at the mug he'd pulled out and not yet moved to fill. It was golden yellow, the same shade that Potter's eyes turned when his hackles – figurative, usually – were raised. He'd bought it without thinking, and it was always the mug he pulled out, unless he was actively avoiding grabbing it. 

He knew, of course. He'd known from the first new moon he'd stepped into Bloody Eyetooth and seen the hostility aimed at him simply because he was _human_. It had taken until Potter's reaction to Walden's name before he'd actually admitted the truth to himself, though: The non-humans would never stand for equality with humans, and Potter couldn't deny them their wishes. Not because of some prophecy or a promise made in the heat of the moment, but because he was utterly, helplessly loyal to the non-human population. He felt for them on a level that Voldemort couldn't even _begin_ to imagine. 

He'd been angry, at first, then let himself entertain depression, because Potter knew how to destroy him, knew every one of Voldemort's tricks because – he'd believed at the time – Death kept him informed about everything; when Potter finally decided Voldemort's usefulness was at an end, Voldemort would die. 

So he'd tried to become too useful, too important, as if he could ever become more important than the very real force that gave Potter's life meaning. He'd thought, after the first time he'd fucked Potter, that he'd finally won, but after a week of Potter trying to pull away, Voldemort knew he'd never had a chance. 

He was going to die for the freedom of Potter's people, and he loved the brat too much to be angry about it. 

"You know Sirius was turned to stay by Master's side," Death pointed out, its voice unexpectedly gentle. "You could do the same." 

Voldemort didn't even realise he'd laughed, hollow and ruined, until he heard his kitchen echo the sound back at him. "Me, play subservient to Potter? Never." 

Bone fingers wrapped around the empty mug he was holding, and Voldemort couldn't help but jerk away, ducking the apparition's scythe and putting an arm's length of space between them. (It would have been more, but the kitchen was too small.) Death's hood turned towards him, non-existent eyes either judging him or laughing at him, it was always so hard to tell when there was nothing but shadows where a face should be. "So you will force Master to kill you." 

Voldemort looked away. 

Death rattled a breath and the mug clinked lightly against the worktop. "You have one chance, Tom Riddle, to keep me from making your afterlife utterly _miserable_ ," it threatened. 

It was gone when Voldemort looked back up. When he stepped over to collect his mug, he found a golden locket with a serpentine 'S' on the front resting within. "Ah," he breathed. 

_'Message received.'_

-0-

Two days after Riddle's visit – and one day after Carmilla finally hunted him down and told him he needed to stop playing ally and _finish this_ – Harry returned home. He'd stood outside on the stoop for a while, breathing in the familiar air of Ottery St Catchpole. There were messages in that air, though, a list of who had survived Riddle's purge, and Harry forced himself to turn away, to ignore the murder written in the wind. 

Inside was a different scent, one so very familiar, yet it didn't belong. 

"Tom?" Harry called as he followed his nose into the living room, only to stop dead at the sight of Riddle sitting on the couch, his horcruxes on the coffee table in front of him, the locket's chain draped elegantly over one arm of Hufflepuff's cup and a spike of the diadem, while the locket itself rested on top of the smooth cover of the diary. 

"The hiding places were actually quite clever, when I thought about it," Riddle commented conversationally, familiar fingers reaching out to caress the graceful curves of the diadem, the chain of the locket clinking against metal in the space between them as he brushed it. "Hiding them in plain sight, among other cursed objects; anyone you invited over wouldn't give them a second glance. I'd never have done it, thought it would be careless, but you proved me wrong, didn't you?" 

Harry swallowed and licked his lips. "What are you doing here, Tom?" he asked, because he'd hoped to deal with the horcruxes, then hunt the Dark Lord down, but Riddle was rather making those plans a pipe dream. 

Riddle stared at him for a long moment, then stood and stepped around the coffee table, putting himself between Harry and the horcruxes. "I spent so long believing I could never regret anything, and I haven't," he said, still conversational as he approached Harry. "I've killed hundreds of people, taken the will of thousands. I've left orphans and widows in my wake, and laughed at their tears." 

"Tom," Harry warned as the Dark Lord stopped in front of him. 

Riddle took Harry's face between his hands and pressed an impossibly gentle smile against his lips in a kiss. Then one of his hands slipped down to Harry's neck and the chain holding his rings snapped, the familiar weight against his chest tumbling down between them. 

Harry reached out too late, managed to catch only the sliding chain as his parents' rings hit the hardwood at his feet. Riddle stepped backwards, a gold band set with a black stone held carefully in one hand. "That's _mine_!" Harry shouted, reaching out, grabbing for his treasure, the one Hallow that had become his favourite over the years. 

"I refuse to die regretting anything, Harry Potter," Riddle told him before he closed his eyes. In his hands, the ring began to glow. 

It wasn't until the black clouds rose behind Riddle and from between his clasped fingers that Harry realised what the Dark Lord had done, and he slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle a sob of denial and shook his head as he watched Riddle's soul repair itself over his head. When it entered him, Riddle went taut, agony lining his face. 

His death was marked by the Resurrection Stone slipping from his fingers and falling silently against the area rug a heartbeat before Riddle's body fell over to one side, expression still twisted with the pain of accepting his horcruxes back. 

Harry hit his knees, his parents' rings and the chain they'd hung from scattered around him, like some sort of fucked up metaphor for the way his entire world had just fallen to pieces. 

He closed his eyes against the sight, forced himself to take a deep breath, in and out, in and out. Don't pay attention to the familiar scent filling the room, ignore the creeping overlay of a fresh corpse. 

He couldn't afford to lose it. The Death Eaters would know right away that Riddle was dead. Most of them would expect foul play. He needed to move, needed to keep his people safe, needed to do his _duty_.

Harry opened his mouth to call Kreacher, but a sob came out instead and he gritted his teeth, balled his hands into fists and let the sharp lance of claws sinking into his palms snap him back to reality. "Kreacher," he called, and the name came out wrecked, but clear. 

The house-elf appeared next to him and Harry opened his eyes to meet the shocked stare. "I need the word spread that we're attacking _now_ ," he ordered, and his voice sounded stronger, more like the Alpha Lord, less like a man who'd just watched his lover commit suicide. 

Kreacher glanced towards Riddle's fallen body, then gave a firm nod. "Kreacher will see it done," he promised before vanishing. 

Harry took another deep breath, in and out, and reached up to wipe at his wet face with his sleeve. Then he looked down and started collecting his rings, his own blood staining the gold bands and the diamond in Lily's engagement ring. He fixed the chain and slid the rings onto it, then forced himself to get up, bracing himself against the doorframe for a beat as his head spun, before he stepped forward to pick up the Stone from in front of Riddle. 

As soon as the chain was back around his neck, no longer quite the comforting weight it once had been, Harry turned away and summoned a doorway to travel by. He paused a step in front of it for a moment, thinking, then turned and summoned Riddle's body to take with; the last thing he wanted was his people defacing Riddle's body in victory. 

"This is war," Harry whispered to himself as he laid Riddle down in the Realm of Death, the one place the man had had the rare ability to reach, and yet never would have, too afraid of what it was, "and sacrifices must be made." 

Fred and Remus and Tonks and Colin, before; Arthur and Charlie and Kingsley and Riddle, now. 

Harry cast a spell to clean his face, uncaring for the blood left staining the Elder Wand, and strode forward to face the war he had begun. He would end it, would finally see the end of human tyranny, and his people would _thrive_.

Riddle was right, there was no room for regret.

-0-

Three days later, the surviving magical humans waved their figurative white flag and Harry called a cease-fire. He allowed for a week to mourn and bury their dead, and while everyone else took the offered break, he went around to the various muggle governments that had contact with their local magical community and explained, calmly, that the balance of power in the magical world had shifted. Because Riddle might not have cared what the muggles thought, might have been fully willing to kill them all off, but Harry knew there weren't enough magical humans to feed all his vampires. They needed the muggles alive, needed the governments to work with them, rather than against them. 

It really had been just like Riddle, thinking of his muggle hatred before the needs of Harry's people. 

"The new Minister for Magic will visit with you in a week, as soon as he or she is sworn in," he informed the British Prime Minister, who was staring at him like he had no idea how to respond the the fact that an apparent eighteen-year-old was telling him that a massive war had just finished under his nose, explaining so many of the mysterious deaths that had cropped up over the last month. "It's unlikely, but do be aware that you may have to make allowances for meeting particularly late in the summer, due to the long days." 

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" the man burst out with. 

Harry blinked at him, slow and unbothered. "A vampire may be elected." 

The Prime Minister sputtered and pointed a shaking finger at Harry. "Why can't _you_ be the Minister?!" he demanded. 

Harry snorted. "I'm no politician, and I have no wish to ever hold such a seat." Anyway, he could hardly rule a single country when his duty was to the whole _world_. "Second, if you're looking for a human counterpart, you won't find it in me; I am a werewolf." 

The man went white and slumped in his chair. "I'm too old for this job," he whispered, looking strained. 

Harry rolled his eyes, having stood through far too many conversations exactly like this already. "Don't let me keep you from resigning, Minister Major. It wouldn't affect me at all." 

"No," the Prime Minister muttered dully, "I don't suppose it would." He gave a great sigh and straightened. "Will you be introducing your new Minister when he or she first comes to visit?" 

Harry shook his head. "I'm afraid I have far too much on my plate in terms of international matters to serve as the referee for your initial contact. I can promise that, whoever it is, they will respect your space and will either endeavour to be non-threatening, or delegate a liaison capable of doing so. If it is a vampire, they will be directed to leave a note for you if you are not in the office when they drop by, and the meeting will be rescheduled for the next evening. If that's everything?" 

"I–" The Prime Minister glanced Harry over, then rubbed tiredly at his eyes under his glasses. "Yes, I believe so. Thank you for endeavouring to keep me in the loop, Mr..." He trailed off, apparently only now realising Harry had never introduced himself, and nor had his name been given when his secretary had shown Harry in. 

Harry turned back towards the door, having arranged a meeting the proper muggle way, rather than simply flooing in, as he knew most magical folk would do. "Forgive me," he offered over his shoulder with a polite little smile, "I am Alpha Lord Sol." Then he stepped from the office, turning his polite smile on the secretary sitting outside. "I believe I can find my way out, madam, if you have more pressing matters," he told her. 

"Oh, uhm, well, if you're sure..." 

"I am," Harry promised before inclining his head and seeing himself out; he still had about thirty governments to deal with, and he needed to lay down some ground rules with the wendigos, since the largest werebear pack had sent him a complaint about their local wendigo that morning. 

As soon as everything was settled, he was going to take a long holiday. 

-0-

"Here are my rules," Harry told the gathered wendigos, "non-magical humans of age are fair game. Magical humans of age are fair game. I find out anyone's attacked any children or non-humans, I will hunt the perpetrator down and destroy both the host and the spirit. Am I clear?" 

The wendigos glared back at him, but all returned quiet murmurs of understanding. 

"Good. I suggest you not make me regret letting your kind continue," Harry said before getting up to leave. 

"You know, Alpha Lord," one of the wendigos called as he stood, gaunt form swaying slightly, as though he didn't actually possess the strength to stand against the wind, "you can't be everywhere, all the time." 

Harry stared at the cocky fool for a long moment, then smiled and asked, "Can't I?" before he stepped through the doorway that formed for him into the Realm of Death. He took a moment to breathe in the familiar shadowy plane, as the doorway vanished behind him, then hesitantly called, "Death?" He knew the other had been busy of late, with all the fighting in the magical world and whatever muggle wars were occurring. And, too, admittedly, a part of him was angry, because Riddle had died, and even if it had been by his own hand, Death had technically had a hand in it. 

It was irrational, and he knew it, but that didn't mean he could actually stop the emotion. He needed someone to blame, and Death was always a ready scapegoat, for all that Harry adored it most of the time. 

The cloaked form appeared in front of him with a wordless bow, like it knew Harry was displeased. 

"Is there a way to know if one of the wendigos kills a non-human or child? Preferably quickly, so I can deal with it before whichever idiot..." Harry trailed off as Death nodded, the lack of sound finally catching his attention. 

Death had never been quiet. Even when it had stood listening, giving no comment, its fingers had clicked against the shaft of its scythe. He glanced down, towards the well-known bone fingers, but what he found wasn't bone, was skin. Long and familiar in a different way. 

He looked up into the shadowed hood, stepped forward and reached up to push it back. Death didn't stop him, let him reveal thin lips and a sharp nose. Impeccable black hair, shaped eyebrows, red-brown eyes. 

"Tom?" Harry whispered. 

A hand cupped his cheek, the gesture familiar, but the shape of the hands all wrong. "Hello, my Sol," Riddle replied quietly. There was a slight rasp to his voice, but it was unmistakably him, and Harry realised _this_ was why he hadn't spoken. 

The rage was sudden, an unexpected rush that had him shoving Riddle away before he'd even thought about it. "You absolute _bastard_! Why would you–! How could you–?!"

Riddle stayed where Harry had pushed him, hands tight around Death's scythe. "Refuse to let you kill me?" he suggested, his tone dry and so achingly familiar. "Refuse to watch you tear yourself apart because you can't help but put your people above your own happiness?" He held his hands out to either side, scythe held awkwardly in one of them. "What else could I do but save you from yourself? You're my Sol, my sun; I could never stand back and watch your light fade." 

It was the closest either of them had ever come to voicing the depth of the emotions grown between them, the bond that hadn't been as easily removed as Harry's scar, nor ignored like the prophecy now voided. 

Harry reached out and Riddle came to him, free hand cupping his cheek again, thumb brushing through a line of tears that Harry hadn't even been aware of. "I am so unbelievably angry at you right now," he whispered before turning his head to kiss Riddle's palm. 

Riddle snorted. "Who was plotting to murder whom, here?" he returned before shifting his hand under Harry's chin, bringing him to look up so Riddle could press their lips together. 

The kiss was as gentle as their last, unfamiliar between them, but filled with everything they had yet to say; every 'hello' and 'goodbye' they'd skipped around, every second of heart-breaking loneliness that had marked the time between _then_ and _now_ , every 'I love you' never whispered in a thousand languages. 

"Yes," Riddle said at last, the words fanning over Harry's lips, "I can let you know as soon as one of those cannibals kills a child or a non-human." 

Harry stared up into the red-brown eyes, curling his hand against Riddle's nape and catching in the short hairs there. "You're Death," he murmured. 

Riddle grimaced. "I'm a part of a whole, a spirit given definition because you refused to let me go." 

Harry coughed out a startled laugh. 

Riddle closed his eyes, expression pained. "Yes, you have the singular ability, my Sol, to trap me in the position where I must be either subservient to you in life, or be such in death. It is...so very irritating." 

Harry leant up to press a brief kiss to Riddle's lips. "I'm a little bit sorry. Like, half a millimetre of sorry." 

"Liar," Riddle returned as he opened his eyes again. Amusement glinted in them, bright with fondness, and Harry grinned up at him. "Tyrant." 

"I'm effectively king of the magical world right now," Harry pointed out. "You need to be nice to me." 

Riddle snorted. "Potter, the minute I start acting truly nice to you, you'll just start thinking I'm up to something. Let's avoid 'nice' at all costs." 

Harry considered that for a moment, then snorted himself. "You're right. I like you better as a bastard, anyway. Suits you." 

Riddle's thumb traced over Harry's bottom lip and he closed his eyes and let himself lean into the former Dark Lord's embrace, the scythe pressing awkwardly against his back. "You're not getting rid of me this time," Riddle murmured. 

"No more walking away," Harry whispered, remembering Riddle's words in Alaska. It seemed like an age ago, now, but it seemed the threat would hold true; Riddle owned Harry as much as Harry owned him. 

"No regrets," Riddle whispered back. 

And for the first time since he'd seen Riddle die in his living room, Harry realised he truly didn't regret a thing. 

-0-

In the end, after all of the blood spilt and the week of mourning, the magical world settled easily into the new hands that held it. 

Harry magic'd himself up a nice little place in Antarctica, the only continent on Earth where he could be assured both of his privacy, and that no one would think he liked their country better than any other just because the Alpha Lord was residing within their borders. 

He only returned to civilization, officially, for two reasons: When a problem between non-humans chanced an international incident – he believed that local governments should be able to manage their people without his constant input, though he understood some wars between packs/clans/prides required a higher power to mediate – and once a year, shortly before the final year students at each of the major magical schools graduated, he went around and showed them some text from Death's book, trying to find someone to teach those skills to, whether they be human or non-human. 

The first couple years after the changeover, he'd received fairly constant owls from people too used to looking to him for help, but as he continued to tell everyone to look, first, to their local governments, and everyone began to trust this new world order, he got fewer and fewer owls. He occasionally got visits from Sirius, Remus, Bill, and Carmilla, and he'd get regular updates from the various governments about how things were going in their areas around the new year, but it was otherwise a lonely existence, save for Riddle and Kreacher. Which Harry didn't mind all that much, honestly. 

Still, when he would have been fourteen, Harry applied to teach at the primary school he'd have attended if he'd remained with the Dursleys. Riddle helpfully supplied the documents he needed to fake his age and skills, even as he mocked him the entire time for wanting to work with _muggles_. But, honestly, Harry was too well known in the magical world to get by even with every possible disguise spell in existence, so the muggle world was his only choice. And, for all that it was one of the home counties, Surrey had always been a fairly magic-free zone, especially Little Whinging. 

No matter what Riddle said, Harry enjoyed teaching, and he honestly liked most of the kids he saw go past. And if he, sometimes, stepped in and forced the hand of the local authorities in getting a child out of an abusive situation, well... Even Riddle agreed that there was nothing wrong with doing for others what no one had ever done for either of them. 

After all the hardships, all the heart-break and the loss, it was exactly the sort of life Harry had never dared imagine he might find when he decided to give life a second chance in the name of revenge. 

-0-0-0-  
OWARI  
-0-0-0-

**Author's Note:**

> Couple closing things.
> 
> The history book that Harry stole with the diary and Death's book, then spent two years or so translating, was a minor plot idea that got dropped when things went in a different direction from what I'd originally intended.
> 
> I'd originally intended for Harry to attend Hogwarts, but then I came up with the ageing ritual and lost my patience for slowly drawing things out, so that never happened. Had Harry attended, he would have ended up in Hufflepuff, as his loyalty to the non-humans is so very much a part of everything he is.
> 
> Because a few people have asked me about what happened to the original death:  
>  _Death is more of an idea than a truly physical apparition. It spans every reality out there, and can manage multiple deaths a minute all over any given globe._  
>  _Because Harry was so attached to Tom – and because part of Tom's soul had spent so much time in direct contact with a Hallow – Death was able to, in a way, assimilate Tom's spirit – his memories and personality and such – into itself. Really, Tom is just a physical appearance that Death can put on – like the hooded being with a scythe – but which has a very distinct behaviour from any other part of Death._  
>  __  
> If Harry were to ever hit a point in his life where he didn't want to see Tom again, Death would return to appearing like the cloaked skeleton that Harry first met, and would act accordingly.
> 
>  ~~I have absolutely no intention to ever continue this world, as I very much like where it's ended. Any comments about a sequel will be either mocked or simply binned, depending on my level of ire at the moment I see the email. (I will accept the joking whinging, as I know a couple of you smartasses can't resist, but pushing the matter is just going to piss me off. Just so we're all clear.)~~  
>  You know, I wrote that, and then my muse tossed a new world-hopping!Harry plot into my lap, and I decided to just reuse this Harry. No word on when that fic will be finished, but since I had a name for a series, I went ahead and added it here. Which is why this fic is marked as the first in a series.  
> (Demands for the next fic in this series decrease the likelihood that I will finish it. Don't be that dick.


End file.
